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TALK AT IV 
DOCTOR 


may 23 1898 " 


[RThf 
flOOKAM- 




BY 


( I. Frank L'ixs i on, m. d. 

Fellow of the Chicago Academy of 
Medicine, Professor of Surgery in the 
State University of Illinois, and of 
Criminal Anthropology in the Kent 
College of Law, Etc. 




Cl 


MAGNIFICENTLY ILLUSTRATED 

liV C. l:\'[:RI:TT .lOHMSON.' 



CHICAGO. 

JOHNE.POTTOCOMPANY. 

LIMITED 

232-234-236 LILTII AVENUE. 



ivT'v 





7 


2nd COPY 

1898 . 


OWE COPY RECEIVED 

1 3 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 
1898, By G. Frank Lydston, M. D., in the Office 
of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



80f>4 


TO 

THE FELLOWS 

OF • 

THE CHICAGO ACADEMY OF MEDICINE, 

AS 

A TOKEN OF WARM REGARD, 

AND 

IN EVIDENCE OF HIS APPRECIATION OF THE COMMINGLED SPIRIT OF 
SCIENTIFIC ENTHUSIASM AND HEARTY GOOD-FELLOWSHIP 
WHICH HAS EVER BEEN THE DOMINATING 
CHARACTERISTIC OF THE 
ACADEMY. 

THIS VOLUME 

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY 

The Author. 


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OVER THE HOOKAH. 



H ! hookah of the magic bowl, 

Thou dost bring me greatest pleasure, 
Who likes not thee, hath not a soul 
And can know of joy no measure, 


Thy fragrance brings me visions bright — 
Dispels the shadows of the night. 


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TABLE OF CONTENTS, 


Apropos of Several Subjects, - - - 

Seeing Things, - . . - . 

Several Kinds of Doctors, - . . 

The Doctor Emulates Sandow, - - - 

Larry’s Contributions to “Fishology,” and the 
History of Ireland, . - . 

How A Versatile Young Doctor Reported a 
Society Event, ----- 
The Rhodomontade of a Sociable Skull (I), 
The Rhodomontade of a Sociable Skull (II), - 
A Martyr to His Passions, - - 

Old Abe as a Musical Critic, . . - 

Poker Jim — Gentleman (I), . _ . 

Poker Jim — Gentleman (H), . - , 

The Passing of Major Merriwether (I), 

The Passing of Major Merriwether (II), 

The Passing of Major Merriwether (HI), - 
The Passing of Major Merriwether (IV), 

The Passing of Major Merriwether (V), - 


25 

59 

87 

117 

143 

165 

195 

235 

283 

327 

359 

393 

443 

481 

505 

535 

581 




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, 

^ , 

PAGE 

An Evening Over the Hookah, (Frontispiece.) 

The Bone and Sinew of the Profe:ssion, - - - 24 

The Prime of Life, 30 

Eve Up to Date, - -- -- -- -35 

“My Doctor” Makes a Call, 41 

Out of the Shadows of the Past, - - - - 44 

A Bouquet of Fair Ones, 46 

Ever and Anon My Fairy Plays the Amazon, - - 49 

“Haven’t Got it on your Belly, have you, Skaggs?” 52 

Success, 58 

“De las’ o’ de Mint,” 62 

A Dangerous Botanical Study, 64 

The Stream of Life, 67 

A Student’s Mantel, 70 

A Suggestion for a Sorrowing Widow, - - - 73 

That Zebra, 77 

When Pharisee Meets Pharisee, then Comes — Death, 86 

An Attic Philosopher, 91 

“Swallyin’ His Cud,” 92 

Dockweed in Profound Reflection, - - - 96 

The Stormy Path of Duty, 98 

The Little Children Seemed to Reach Out Their 

Tiny, Eager Hands to Call the Old Man Back, 100 

A Misfit, 102 

A Tender Memory, 104 

To THE Rescue, 108 

“Quite Trilbyesque, eh?” 116 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.— Continued. 


PAGE 

The Limit of a Doctor’s Assurance, - - - - 123 

“Yer Want ter Take er Persition Jest Like Dis; 

Savvy?” 129 

“It has Probably Settled in Your Neck,” - - 132 

“This do be Aisier Worruk nor Fishin’,” - - - 142 

“Be Jabbers Oi’m Thinkin’ there’s a Hook in that 

Feller’s Belly!” 149 

“Wan, two, three — Kin Yez Count at all at all?” 156 
“Giants do be Aether Takin’ a Hull Tub Full o’ 

Wather to Baptoise Thim,” - - - ^ 158 

In the Name of the State of Indiana, - - - 164 

A Bright Future, 170 

“Is THE Cestus Ever Used Nowadays?” - > - 174 

Upholding the Dignity of the Commonwealth, - 178 

Counting the Ties with the “Fitzy Push,” - - 183 

“He Done Retch Roun’ an’ Bite me wid Ebery 

Foot he Hab!” igS 

“Aint Moike a Daisy?” 189 

“Ahem! Good Evening, Doctor,” - - - . 194 

“We are with You in Spirit,” - - - . 195 

An “Expert” in Degeneracy, 200 

Some of “Them Talkin’ Heads,” - - - - 205 

“This is not for Publication,” 218 

Some of Skully’s Works, 223 

Of the Fakee Blood Royal, 227 

Working a Soap Mine, 234 

“Where is My Wandering Boy To-Night?” - - 239 

A Gondola of the Air, 254 

A Fakir of the Olden Time, 258 

Ye Modern Fakir, 259 

An Alienator of the Affections, - - - - 264 

Thereby Hangs — a Turtle, 270 

“No Patient so Treated ever Died of Cancer,” - 273 


V 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.— Continued. 


PAGE 

“Pardon me for Interrupting your Intellectual 

Recreation,” 282 

“I Buried the Blade in the Bully's Side,” - - 301 

A Revel op the Soul, - - 309 

A Dream of Bliss, 315 

“Abr’ham, Bar's Ouah Good Angel,” - - - - 326 

“Ain’t yo ’shamed er Yo’sep Marse K’nary? ” - 332 

One of “Dem Wile Niggahs,” 334 

“Doan’ yo’ Wish yo’ Wuz Up Hyah?” - - - 337 

“I’d jes’ Like ter Know whut He is, Sah, - - 339 

“Whar de Mockin’ Bird Sung me Ter Rest,” - 343 

“Go ter Sleep, oh Mammy’s Little Brack Lam,” - 346 
“I Seed er Little House I Use ter Know,” - 349 

Plucking a Pigeon, - 358 

“Jim had Always Been a Wild Lad,” - - - 368 

“The Body Fell Forward Upon its Face,” - - 373 

The Majestic Indiaman, 377 

“Don’t be Frightened, my Lad,” - . - - 333 

“Poker Jim Wuz er Gentleman,” - - - - 392 

“He Often Burns the Midnight Lamp,” - - - '396 

Fowls of the Air, 402 

A Night on the San Joaquin, 404 

“Kinder Carvin’ Me Up on th’ Installment Plan,” 419 
“The Door Opened, and there Stood Poker Jim,” - 426 

A Modern Bayard, 434 

“May I Inquiah Where that d — d Greasah is?” - 442 

A Task for the Memory, 447 

Where “The Children of Ishmael” are Bred, - 450 
“Thou Hadst Forgotten our Bodies,” - - - 453 

A Primitive Office, 455 

“A Miss is as Good as a Mile,” _ - . - 453 

“Er Mos’ Onpromisin’ Lookin’ Find he wuz,” - - 464 

A Bold Capture, 471 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS— Continued. 


PAGE 

An Ideal Mining Site, 473 

“A PuFFEc’ Dare-Devil, Suh,” . - - - 480 

“He Alone, Knows Where the Fairies Keep 

Babies for Sale,” 486 

“The Old Man Did Have ’em,” 490 

Bull-Fighting a La Mode, 504 

“Fo’ A Moment, I was in a Very Pp:r’lous Posi- 
tion, SuHS,” 509 

From Andalusia, - -513 

“OuAH Country Expec’s Ev’ry Man to Do His Duty,” 516 

Going to Rehearsal, 521 

The Major Orders a Retreat - _ - _ 534 

Prestidigitation Extraordinary, 542 

They Would not Disappear, 543 

A Decided Impression, - 547 

“Big Injun, Heap Big Snake,” 548 

The Insult, 561 

Dutch Bill’s Ideas of Agriculture - - - - 571 

A New Breed of Tenderfoot, 580 

“Reckon she’s Found Out Whar y’u air,” - - 591 

“Say, Doc, Aint He a Corker?” 602 

“He Would Never Fight Again,” - - - - 610 


V 


PREFACE, 



/ dust and rust of three 
centuries, and the weight 
tons on tons of cobwebs 
of obscurity, lie upon the 
mouldering bones of a quaint, 
satirical old commentator who wrote — 

It hath beene ye custome of many men, to make 
ye introductions to their bookes like ye gates of some 
Grecian cities, soe ample that (as ye proverbe ran) 
ye citie was like to steale thorow ye same. 

Had I but a tithe of his moss-grown wisdom, 
I would scarce have courage enow to write any 
introduction or preface whatever — perhaps not 
even enough to publish the book. But authors 
are not expected to profit by the experiences and errors of 
past generations of victims of scribbler’s itch. If they did, 
what would become of our literary reviewers and critics? 
— they must live, and I, for one, am ready, aye, eager, to 
sacrifice myself at the altar of their prosperity. And the 
dear public! — it 7nust be entertained. 

And now, gentle reader, have I not fairly proven my 
philanthropy? And you will not mind what my critics say, 
will you? — that is, unless they say sweet things of me and — 
you know, this book? 

Every man who writes a book should expect criticism; 
I expect to receive more than my share. Thus will I be 
revenged! My captious critics will feel bad when they see 


XVI 


PREFACE. 


I am g-etting- more than my share of anything- in litera- 
ture; and if there is anything- more essential to literature 
than criticism, and plenty of it, I don’t know what it is — 
unless it he ink. So wade in, mes mnis^ and spare not the lash! 
I can’t laug-h at my own work, even the funny parts; a parent 
never sees anything- ridiculous in his own offspring- — which 
is why humorists are so g-rave — but I promise you that the 
whip and spur of the critic will “tickle me ’most to death.” 
And if he should say pleasant thing-s — why, the hookah shall 
be loaded with myrrh and frankincense, and there shall be 
joy in the fullness thereof in mine household! 

A doctor oug-ht never to write such a book, eh? You 
are wasting- breath, my kind friend. That’s just why I 
wrote it! I have plenty of excellent company; I know a num- 
ber of g-ood Christians who confess several times daily that 
they have done those thing-s they oug-ht not to have done and 
left undone those thing-s they oug-ht to have done — and then 
their dig-estions work rig-ht merrily, while Morpheus treats 
them passing- well. 

Now, I am of opinion that the presentation of the thing-s 
/ oug-ht not to have done, may be quite as beneficial to my 
dig-estion as would the confession of them. As for the thing-s 
I have left undone — come, mine excellent critic, send me a list 
of them, and you’ll find them “done rig-ht brown” in the next 
edition! Pray, look out, sir, lest you get some of the hot 
gravy on your own intellectual fingers! 

Observe, I say “intellectual fingers,” advisedly, for I 
shall consider your unfavorable criticism a purely mechanical 
matter — not written with malice prepense. You will look at 
the title page and grunt once; glance at the author’s name 
and grunt twice; you will look at the pictures, read the chap- 
ter-headings, crystallize a sneer, and will then be ready for 
business. If you understand your business, you will pos- 
sibly note the style and color of binding and quality of paper. 
You will now spread out a sheet of clean, white foolscap, dip 
your pen in ferrated tincture of gall — unless you spatter 
with a fountain already loaded — put your pen to the paper 
and — go away and leave it! Did you ever try digitalis for 
heart failure? Try it, sir, it’s great! 


PREFACE. 


XVII 


Complimentary criticism will, on the other hand, be 
reg’arded as the product of deep thought, and brainy, philo- 
sophical reflection inspired by a logical and judicial mind. 

As for the doctors, who are not professional critics — and 
it is largely for them that the book has been written — I trust 
they may get enough entertainment from these pages to 
repay them for the time and trouble of reading them. The 
average doctor is a thoroughly good fellow, whether he knows 
it or not, and such social enjoyment as I have had in life I 
have had in his company. The black-cravatted, solemn- 
visaged idea of the doctor is a thing of the past, and merri- 
ment is fast displacing calomel as a remedy for the liver. 
Should my work fail to please, the good fellows of the profes- 
sion must take the blame — the book has been published at 
the solicitation of a number of them whom I am proud to 
claim as friends. 

Most of the short stories embraced in the old doctor’s 
talks with his student friend, are entirely original and founded 
on real incidents. Some few have been borrowed, in skeleton 
outline — I don’t know where — but I herewith heartily thank all 
the good fellows, all the world over, who, even by indirect 
suggestion, have furnished any of the old wine I may have 
put in new and more pretentious bottles. Should Noah rise 
from the grave and shake his bony fingers at me, I might 
feel somewhat sensitive, but I most emphatically announce 
that accusations of plagiarism from any less distinguished 
and musty source, will not receive the slightest attention. I 
hereby repudiate dear old Boccaccio and good Queen Margot, 
in toto^ while as for Master Rabelais — why, I almost forgot 
him. 

Doctor Weymouth’s character sketches are taken from 
life, and should any of them appear overdrawn, the char- 
acters themselves should be held responsible — they were born 
that way. 

The title of the book is suggestive of nothing, if not of 
repose and good-fellowship. The oriental “ hookah ” has a 
pleasant, restful, social air about it that no other smoke-pro- 
ducing, nicotine-distilling apparatus appears to possess. 
Through it, the tobacco habit seems a blessing, and one of 


xvm 


PREFACE. 


our luxurious weaknesses assumes an air of frag'rant virtue. 
Barrie’s “Lady Nicotine” could not ask a fairer shrine — 
with such a shrine her fair ladyship mig-ht well win a 
monopoly as the tutelary goddess of happiness. There is 
such a flavor of double-distilled comfort and perfumed luxury 
about the hookah, that I wonder those cross-legged Turks 
ever get their legs untangled. I wouldn’t care to straighten 
them out at all, were I a Turk! Of course, as a physician, I 
do not indorse the tobacco habit, but, entre nous^ as good fel- 
lows mind you — 

When friends are false, who once were true, 

When devils black and devils blue — 

Or demons fierce whate’er their hue — 

Disturb my comfort or annoy my mind. 

In nicotine relief I find. 

And there is yet other testimony. 

But I believe my old doctor’s hookah must be pos- 
sessed of an evil spirit — a spirit of loquaciousness. Your 
Turk is all gravity ; his hookah behaves itself — not so our 
doctor’s hookah. It must be the hookah, or might it be, 
after all, the punch? His wife made it, and that lends color 
to the suspicion that his talkativeness is due to an infusion of 
womanly spirit which, in some occult manner, has pervaded 
the divine concoction. Stranger things have happened — es- 
pecially to doctors. 

Well! well! here I am, gossipping about things that do 
not concern me. My business is merely to relate the conver- 
sations that took place between the old doctor and his student 
friend, just as they occurred. Let them be judged fairly 
and without prejudice — b^sed on either hookah or punch. 

For our purpose the dramatis personae the doctor, 
the student, and the hookah. The punch was an under-study, 
and dusky Pete the property man — they could hardly pose 
as stars. As for myself, I am but a chronicler of the doctor’s 
gossipy talks. Be they wise or otherwise, merry or sad, jest 
or earnest, satirical or philosophical, the old doctor must him- 
self shoulder all responsibility. To be sure, the responsi- 
bility is very light in the more humorous portions of his con- 
versation, but he has been quite serious, here and there. 


PREFACE. 


xrx 


From wliat I know of him, however, I am quite sure that he 
is ready to stand by his opinions. 

It is barely possible that my old doctor was more than 
half in earnest in some of his fun. There seems to me to 
be, now and ag'ain, a sort of head-hitting tone to his remarks, 
even when he jests. He affects not to be satirical, but — 
well, if he be, and heads are hit, the owners of the heads 
mustn’t mind. It’s the doctor’s way. He’s a funny old 
man and doesn’t like shams; besides, he always did “ speak 
right out in meeting.” 

While Doctor Weymouth has aimed directly at the 
medical profession, there is a possibility that that gallant old 
war horse, “General Public,” who has won and lost so many 
battles for ambitious authors, may come in contact with this 
volume. Being highly ethical, I dare not do more than enter- 
tain a sly, lurking hope that the general and the book 7nay 
meet and form a speaking acquaintance. I want his sym- 
pathy, and — well, his dollars will go a long way toward im- 
proving my credit with the publisher. Oh, what a greedy 
maw that fellow has got, to be sure! — and how I do want to get 
a whack at the crumbs! 

Of course, I’m like all authors, I write for the love of 
humanity; but in talking it over with you, my dear reader, I 
am — well, I’m pretty honest. Don’t you think so, really? 

To be quite serious, I have attempted to discuss only such 
medical subjects, and in such a manner as may be useful to 
the lay reader, and which, by making him a more intelligent 
patient, will be helpful to his physician — should he ever need 
one. 

I may not have accomplished all I have tried to do, but 
trust that I have not made the slight knowledge of medicine 
possessed by the average lay mind, “confusion worse con- 
founded.” 


The Author. 



s 


APROPOS OF SEVERAL SUBJECTS, 



ICOTIANA, goddess of my 
dreams, 

Do thou assume thy heavenly 
throne — 

Oh, guide me gently by the peaceful 
streams 

And through fair fields which thou 
alone 

Dost know, O sovereign queen of 
mine. 

And make my musings fair— divine, 



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APROPOS OF SEVERAL SUBJECTS. 



SHALL always congratulate myself on 

having selected The Medical 

College, as the fountain at which to 
quaff the waters of medical lore. Not 
only was my choice a wise one as regards 
the method and character of instruction 
afforded me by my alma mater^ but I am 
indebted to the college for the acquaint- 
ance of one of the kindest friends I have ever 
known. 

Doctor William Weymouth w^as one of the faculty of 
the school, and an enthusiastic teacher. He was apparently 
quite fond of his work, and enjoyed the society of students. 
To this latter peculiarity I was afterv/ard indebted for his 
friendship. I do not know how the doctor happened to take 
a fancy to me, but I feel warranted in believing that he did so; 
basing my belief upon the many acts of kindness with which 
he favored me during my student days. It was not until the 
end of my second college year, however, that I became well 
acquainted with Doctor Weymouth. I was brought promi- 
nently to his attention in a very peculiar manner: 

I had appeared for examination in his branch of instruc- 
tion, in the hope of getting it out of the way and thus 
securing more time for other studies. I am free to say that 
I had been somewhat neglectful of the particular chair under 
consideration, and had relied on my ability to cram up for 
examination at the last moment, with the usual result — I ap- 
peared before the professor, with as large and varied an 
assortment of unclassified mis-information as ever filled a 
poor student’s head. 



26 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


Doctor Weymouth was always most considerate in his 
methods of dealing* with students, and rarely failed to g*ive 
those who fell down in the examinations, another opportunity 
to demonstrate their qualification — or lack of it. He there- 
fore sent for me, and after informing* me in a most courteous 
and sympathetic manner that I had failed in my examination, 
made an appointment with me at his residence, for the pur- 
pose of g*iving* me another trial. I g*ladly, yet with some mis- 
givings, embraced the opportunity and at the appointed time 
was on hand for the ordeal. My re-examination, though 
searching, was perfectly fair and practical, yet only served to 
still further demonstrate my incapacity, hence I was not sur- 
prised, when, after an hour’s careful questioning, the doctor 
shook his head regretfully and said: 

“ My boy, supposing you were in my position, and I in 
yours, just now, what would be likely to happen?” 

“Well,” I replied, manfully, “a certain student of my 
acquaintance would get most beautifully plucked.” 

The doctor smiled, and said: 

“And I fear I shall have to adopt your suggestion, for 
your own sake. It would be hardly fair to you, to allow you 
to go through half-informed upon any branch of your studies. 
I regret that I could not have taught you more — I fear I have 
been remiss in some direction or other. Your failure has 
by no means ruffled my dignity, but leads me to think that I 
myself may possibly be to blame — I should, at least, have 
imparted sufficient information to enable you to pass such 
an examination as I have given you.” 

The doctor really seemed conscience-stricken, hence I 
hastened to console him by informing him of my neglect, 
and the fact that I had put off studying his branch until just 
before examination. 

“Well,” said he, “you will at least have a chance to 
make amends next year, and if you value my peace of mind, as 
well as your own self-interest, I am sure you will redeem 
yourself most nobly.” 

After some desultory conversation, I bade the doctor 
good-day and departed for home, with a much clearer con- 
science than if I had succeeded in barely getting through 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


27 


the examination. I mentally resolved to secure a mark in 
Doctor Weymouth’s branch the following* year, which should 
make that worthy g-entleman proud of his teaching*. As I 
was leaving*, the doctor g*ave me a cordial invitation to call 
ag*ain, and in so earnest a manner that I felt assured he meant 
it — there is a certain subtle quality of speech which always 
disting*uishes the g*enuine from the conventional. I returned 
home with the impression that I was henceforth to be favored 
with the doctor’s friendship. 

I not only called, in response to Doctor Weymouth’s invi- 
tation, but it was not long* before there was a tacit under- 
standing between the doctor and myself, that I was to visit 
him at regular intervals and spend the evening. As social 
indulgences and recreation are rare in the life of the medical 
student, I gladly embraced the opportunity — and most roy- 
ally was I entertained. 

I found Doctor Weymouth a most entertaining and versa- 
tile companion, one in whose society time never dragged. His 
experience had been large, his fund of stories seemed inex- 
haustible, and, as he never tired of telling them, I enjoyed the 
intellectual feast that he laid before me, to the utmost. 

I do not know how my dear old friend will like the idea of 
having some of his many stories published — he himself 
always had a rather poor opinion of their artistic merits — 
but I know he will .forgive the liberty I have taken, pro- 
vided I have not mutilated them beyond recognition. I 
dared not ask him to edit the stories himself, lest he suppress 
my budding literary aspirations altogether. 

I am sure that I have not done the dear old doctor full 
justice, but if the reader will please remember that the 
deficiencies — which I fear are only too apparent, here and 
there — are mine, and not Doctor Weymouth’s, no harm will 
come of them. 

My kind friend was most decidedly a man of moods, 
hence there is no great degree of uniformity in these tales. 
He passed from grave to gay, from jolly fun to mocking 
satire, from light pleasantry to serious philosophy, from 
humor to pathos, so rapidly that I had the greatest difficulty 
in following him, in the more or less imperfect chronicle which 


28 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


I have undertaken. I never was able to surmise what was to 
be expected at any of our pleasant conversations, and so, 
if the reader experiences a succession of surprises, he or 
she will please remember that I had many similar expe- 
riences during' the enjoyable evening's spent with my doctor 
friend. 


“Hallo, my boy!” said the doctor, “I’m very g-lad to see 
you. It would appear that you did not forget my invitation to 
call. I assure you, sir, that I am likely to enjoy your visit 
more than you yourself could possibly do. Were you a full- 
fledged M. D. instead of a student, I do not know that I could 
honestly express so much pleasure in meeting you again. 

“Do you know, sir, that the medical student is very 
attractive to me — especially a senior, with his hopes, fears, 
speculations, and twinges of conscience? It does me good to 
talk with one into whose young soul the double-distilled venom 
of worldliness, and the iron of scientific and professional com- 
petition have not yet entered. 

“The young man in the profession of medicine — indeed, 
in all professions — is the vital principle of the entire body 
professional, and I, for one, appreciate him. What would we 
do without him? 

“It is the young man who furnishes the unselfish, frank, 
and candid ambition of the profession — he it is who gives it 
its rosy hopes and lofty ideals, who imparts to it some of 
his own warm-hearted, honest enthusiasm. 

“We old fellows, whose hearts have become somewhat 
worldly; whose feelings have become case-hardened; whose 
sympathies and emotions have been worn threadbare by 
rough treatment and frequent abuse; whose faith in human 
nature has been ground to an exceeding fineness in the tread- 
mill of work-a-day life — need just such healthful rejuvenation 
as contact with virile, youthful minds imparts. 

“ Possibly it is better that the outer gloss of the student’s 
armor of hope and sanguine expectation eventually becomes 
worn off; better that his ideals sooner or later become less 
rosy by being tossed to and fro, hither and thither, on the 
storm-swept sea of active professional life, yet I cannot help 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


29 


thinking that the profession owes much to the infusion of 
young hopes and new, vigorous blood so richly laden with 
red corpuscles, that each year adds to the body medical. 
Why, my lad, were it not for the revivifying influence of 
the young men who enter the profession from year to year, 
we old chaps would become a lot of dry, shriveled-up mum- 
mies, with nothing in the present worth living for, and no 
hope for the future worth striving for. 

‘ ’Tis well to g-ive honour and glory to age, 

With its lessons of wisdom and truth, 

Yet who would not go back to the fanciful page, 

And the fairy tale read but in youth ? 

Let time rolling on, crown with fame or with gold — 

Let us bask in the kindliest beams ; 

Yet what hope can we cherish, what gift can we hold. 

That will bless like our earlier dreams ?’ 

“My boy, there are those who say that five-and-forty is 
‘the prime of life.’ By what standard do they gauge it? 
Such people weary me! What man does not pause in mid- 
life, at forty-five, and sigh, ‘ It might have been ’? — Who then, 
can say that the measure of his years has been filled with 
satisfaction? — No one, I fancy. 

“At twenty, nothing is impossible to our youthful hopes 
and madly-pulsing ambition — at forty-five, we have most 
effectually proven that most of our desires were for the 
impossible. Is not the rosy-hued dream of future triumph 
fairer far than the retrospective survey of ambitions ungrati- 
fied? 

“ Forty-five, the prime of life! Go to, all ye false prophets 
and sophistical middle-aged philosophers — the sublime ego- 
tism of a stagnate animality blinds you! 

“ Give me the age of twenty, when the world is new and 
bright, when the sap of youth, the fire of youthful ambition, 
is not polluted with the gall and wormwood of disappoint- 
ment, nor deadened by the choke-damp of ungratified ambi- 
tion. The roses of hope, the jewels of lofty aspiration, the 
honey of love and happiness, the laurel wreath of fame — all 
are within your very grasp, and you have seemingly but to 
close the hand, to realize your fondest hopes. — ’Tis then, 
indeed, you are in the prime of life! 


30 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“And then comes five-and-forty — you have long* since 
closed your hand and ardently clasped your own; perchance 
you have hugg*ed your fond delusion to your breast full 
many a year. You open your hand — and find it empty! 
The sweet-voiced bird of many and beauteous hues has flown! 
You are now a decadent! It is true you are wiser than of 
yore, but full dearly have you paid for your wisdom. 

‘ When, throug-h the veiled ideal 

The vigorous reason thrusts a knife, 

And rends the illusion and show^s us the real. 

Oh! this is the time called “ prime of life. ’ ” 

“How rude the awakening* from your fair dream! Hap- 
piness was yours, for you thoug*ht, aye, you felt it to be 



THE PRIME OF LIFE. 

yours; misery is now your lot, because — well, because you 
have been awakened by the bell that dolefully tolls the noon- 
tide of life. Ah! that bell! — 

“Tell me, my g*ood friend, you who have been so rudely 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


31 


aroused from your life’s day-dream by that doleful mid-day 
chime — is forty-five the prime of life? 

“How honest you are, to be sure! But only because I 
know you so well, old fellow, and can estimate at its true 
value, the self-satisfied smirk that is playing hide-and-seek 
in that beard — which is already showing a tinge of frost. 
You cannot deceive me, my gallant sir, for I myself would 
fain be twenty once again! 

“Heigho! I fancy you understand why I am fond of 
students — I have an excellent memory. I, too, had my ideals; 
I, too, once felt that nothing was impossible; I, too, once cast 
the word ‘ fail’ out of my vocabulary; I, too — but where’s the 
use in harking back just now? The Italian bard, Aleardi, 
has summed up my every thought in the beautiful lines — 

* O, give me back once more, 

O, give me, Lord, one hour of youth again! 

For in that time I was serene and bold. 

And uncontaminate, and enraptured with 
The universe. I did not know the pangs 
Of the proud mind, nor the sweet miseries 
Of love; and had never gather’d yet. 

After those fires, so sweet in burning, bitter 
Handfuls of ashes, that, with tardy tears 
Sprinkled, at last have nourish’d into bloom, 

The solitary flowers of penitence. ’ ” 


“ Do you know, my boy, that you were late to-night? 

“ Professor A kept you over time, eh? Well, that’s 

just like him! Fond of talking, isn’t he? 

“Ye-yes, he does talk well — sometimes. When talking 
about his own remarkable cases — which are largely the 
product of psychic prestidigitation — he is positively eloquent. 
However, do not tempt me to gossip. 

“By the way, young man, I have something smokable 
here, that may suit you better than my havanas. This cob 
pipe, and some German student ^ ranch tahak^'" will make you 
democratic if not happy. 

“ Try some of the punch. There is a flavor of the Orient 
and old ‘ Kaintuck ’ combined, in that sublime fluid. 

“ How is it made? 


32 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ Why, for the life of me I can’t tell you. My good wife 
concocts it, but whether it is the artist or the ingredients 
that make it so delicious,! cannot say. Entre nous^ though, 
I think it is the artist. 

“ I say, my lad, when you marry, get a woman like her if 
you can — which I doubt. Ah! there’s a rara avis! 

“Indulgent? 

“ To a fault, sir, to a fault — else how could she travel in 
harness with me? Oh, she knows my weaknesses — most of 
them at least — and can handle me accordingly! 

“Someone, when asked how to manage a husband, said, 
‘ Feed the brute!’ I don’t know who the fellow was, but my 
wife discovered that plan long before she ever heard any such 
advice. When I come home cross, hungry, and full of devils — 
black, green, and blue — what does she do? Talk to me? 
Never! 

“She feeds me beefsteak cut right out of the heart of a 
big, juicy tenderloin; then, when digestion is fully estab- 
lished, she boldly confronts me with some of the gossip of 
the day, or a story of the latest clever things the children 
have said or done, and I not only listen, but conduct myself 
quite like a civilized being. 

“I think my wife must have been in Lincoln park some- 
time or other, about the time the animals were being fed. 
She’s a great physiologist, any way. She could give Anstie 
point’s in nerve pathology and therapeutics. Neurasthenia, 
profanity, and general cussedness of temper, according to 
her, mean simply the cry of starved ganglia, and nerve fibres 
and such things, for pabulum — and pabulum in her vernacular 
signifies a blood-rare tenderloin steak. Ah! she is a great 
cook — and a greater diplomat! — 

“Speaking of my wife reminds me of matrimony — not 
in general, but as a duty of doctors. You had better prick 
up your ears, my boy! How your eyes glisten! 

“Oh ho! Already picked out, eh? 

“ Soon as you are established! 

“Well, then, what I have to say about selecting a wife 
and joining ‘the silent majority,’ will have to be impersonal. 

“ You can tell it to the other boys to-morrow? 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


33 


“ Oh yes, they’ll be g’lad to hear your proxy views on that 
subject, no doubt! Some of those big*, double-fisted country 
boys will think of that buxom lass back home, and pass you 
and my moralistic reflections up, over, and out! I think you’d 
better keep what I say to yourself. I’m settled in life, long- 
since, and you think you are — but we can sit on our pinnacle 
of judg-ment and moralize to our heart’s content. 

“ The selection of a wife is a very important matter to 
the young- professional man. I presume you are so well 
satisfied with certain sentimental and supposedly cardiac 
arrang-ements you have made, it would be impossible to 
make you appreciate the fact that the selection of a wife 
is one of the main issues in g-etting on in the world. The 
doctor’s wife is one of the most important factors in his 
daily routine of life. She can make or break him, and not half 
try. You see, therefore, the necessity of caution in leaping 
into the matrimonial sea. 

“ Did you ever notice what a variety of girls the average 
young fellow thinks he has to select from? He begins by 
wondering whether he will marry money, beauty, brains, or 
social position, and invariably winds up by marrying — the 
woman he loves — at least he is hypnotized into thinking so. 

“Is it not a beneficent provision of nature that the human 
heart is capable of idealizing? Some coarse natures go 
through life with a gloomy tinge of misogynism — and a deeper 
dye of meanness — and perish without knowing what the ideal 
of womanliness means. Their sentiments are a reflex of 
their own coarse brain-cells. Most men worthy of the name 
meet during their lives with at least four women whom they 
can love and respect. With mother, sister, sweetheart, and 
wife to choose from at different periods of life, the man who 
has no ideals is inexcusable. To be sure, these gifts are not 
always distributed equally, but a fellow have a mother — 
or a memory of one, and if he doesn’t get a sweetheart and 
transform her into a wife, why, that’s his own fault. 

“How I pitv the man of no ideals! What is there in life to 
make it worth living — for such as he? He is a discord in the 
harmony of nature, a grub in the garden of sentiment. 
Worst of all, he is a failure as a man. 


34 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Ah! my boy, what were the drama of life without the 
inspiration of lovely, peerless woman? — 

‘She is a vision of delight, when first she gleams upon our sight, 

A lovely apparition, sent to be a moment’s ornament. 

Her eyes, as stars of twilight fair. 

Like twilight, too, her dusky hair. 

But all things else about her drawn. 

From May-time and the cheerful dawn. 

A dainty shape, an image gay, * 

To haunt, to startle, and waylay. ’ 

“Woman, my dear young friend, is a subject to which 
neither the emotional sentiment of the poet nor the most 
exalted imagery of the romancist have ever done justice. 
She has driven philosophers mad, and kings to perdition; she 
has ruined empires and saved states; she has destroyed peo- 
ples and rescued nations; she has corrupted saints, and raised 
sinners to the highest plane of morality; she has been a curse 
and a blessing to all mankind, a thorn in the side and a com- 
fort to the soul; she has been human to man and as cold and 
heartless as stone to woman; she has been true to her 
affections and false to herself; she has been the fountain of 
inspiration and the well-spring of ambition; she has been the 
shrine of the hero and the despair of the coward; she has 
acted the combined roles of angel and devil with amazing 
versatility; since the world began, she has ever been — woman. 
Who but an aspiring egotist could aspire either to analyze 
her or do her even scant justice? 

“ Did you ever realize to what extent woman pervades, 
not only the affairs of the present, but the spiritual panorama 
of future promise? The world did not fairly begin until she 
appeared, and when mortal man is permitted to peep into the 
heaven which is said to be beyond, he finds it peopled with — 
female angels! Who ever heard of a heaven without them? 

“Our ideal has never given us but the one Eden. The 
lofty aspiration and beauteous imagery of genius — both 
material and spiritual — has ever reverted, through all the 
ages, to the only earthly paradise ever conceived by the 
imagination of man as the sum and summit of human desire. 
Who shall say that the paradise of the ancient dreamer of 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 35 

scripture and oriental romance, was not passing- fair? And 
yet, was it not a desolate wild, a waste of barren sands, 
before the coming- of the only divinity of whom we can be 
really certain — woman, lovely, incomparable woman? With 
her divinity alone, came the consummation of mortal bliss; 
she alone, broug-ht warmth, g-ood cheer, and beauty to ter- 
restrial existence; throug-h her alone, was it possible to 
bring- to primal man, the first material realization of human 
happiness. 

“Scoff as we may, at the intrinsic defects and glaring- 
inconsistencies of the ancient scriptural story of creation, it 

still contains the warp 
and woof of a tissue 
of the most beautiful 
sentiment. Childish 
though the story may 
be, it is childishness 
far excellence^ that 
evolves bright dreams 
and the all-pervading 
fragrance of purity. 
In childhood alone, can 
the mind be said to be 
intrinsically pure, and 
if the Garden of Eden 
was evolved from 
childish minds — from 
the minds of mature, 
yet simple men, who 
dreamed, and thought, 
and spake as children, 
small wonder is it, 
that it should have been a dream of beauty. 

“ To be sure, the snake came also, but I question much, 
whether the story could have been satisfactory without him. 
Had woman fallen without temptation she would have lost 
much of her divinity. We certainly never could have become 
reconciled to the expulsion of the human family from the 
almost celestial garden, had we not heard of the snake. 



36 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


Mother Eve suffered severely for her folly — so sayeth the 
chronicle — and her daughters have shown that her repent- 
ance was sincere, if heredity counts for anything. It has 
ever since been absolutely impossible to establish social rela- 
tions between women and snakes. Eve may have chatted 
with the original serpent, but it is safe to say that no woman 
has ever gossiped with one of his descendants. The 
ancient reptile would have a lonesome time of it now-a-days; 
— he could find no woman who would face him long enough to 
be tempted. 

“ Dearly bought was thy lesson, sweet woman, but profit- 
able enough hath it been for thee! 

“Supposing the story of the Garden of Eden were 
literally true, do you believe, my dear boy, that Adam had 
any particular occasion to bewail his fate? / am too gallant 
to think he was not perfectly contented. Eden was not 
paradise until illumined by the light of love, and, as our 
ancient progenitor took away from that earthly elysium, 
all that made life worth living, we must needs waste no sym- 
pathy upon him. We modern lovers would have shamed good 
old father Adam for his lack of gallantry, had he breathed a 
single sigh of regret at the loss of Eden. 

The scriptures would have us believe that the expulsion 
from the Garden of Eden was a punishment! — Why, father 
Adam should have whistled in mockery and derision at his 
sentence! Was not Eve beside him, and was she not the 
nearest approach to perfection in frail femininity that the 
world has ever known? What was the loss of earthly immor- 
tality compared with the companionship of Eve? 

“Verily, if the story of the fall of our ancient parents be 
true, Adam’s lot should have been a happy one. His punish- 
ment was a travesty — like that of the little boy at school, who 
is made to go over and sit with the girls. The darkest, 
gloomiest wood is the fairest of gardens, if graced by the 
virtues and beauty of peerless woman — a bower of roses is 
but a gloomy hermit cell without her. 

“Adam had but to recall those cheerless days of his 
bachelorhood, to be reconciled to his punishment. He should 
not have forgotten that mournful period before Eve came — 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


37 


* When slowly passed the melancholy day 
And still the stranger wist not where to stay. 

The world was sad! the garden was a wild! 

And man, the hermit, sighed — ’till woman smiled. ’ 

“Poor old Adam! what a disconsolate old bachelor he 
must have been, to be sure! 

“ Some bachelors are content with their lot, you say? 

“Oh yes, after the fashion of that jolly Bohemian who 
wrote — 

‘ I go where I list and return when I please, 

I am free as the fays of the wandering breeze; 

In a stoup of good wine and a sup with a friend, 

I find a good cheer and joy without end; 

I am free from all care and a shrew of a wife — 

There’s nothing for me like a bachelor’s life. 

‘ When even comes on, ’mid the gathering gloom, 

I hasten away to my bachelor room; 

I don an old coat, put my feet on a chair. 

And wait for the step of a friend on the stair — 

Far up from the street, with its rumble and strife. 

Oh! give me my comfort — my bachelor life. 

‘ As I smoke my old cob and puff up the rings. 

And revel in songs sweet memory sings. 

Slowly there rises before me a face — 

Whose features the smoke rings seem fondly to trace. 

Oh! this is the life — but, by Jove! I will go 
And ask her again — she may not say no. ’ 

“ It is singular, yet nevertheless true, that those senti- 
ments w^hich are nearest our hearts are often the most diffi- 
cult of expression. Speak of woman, and your auditor 
immediately conjures up a vision that is to him a dream of 
loveliness beyond all power of description — the tongue of the 
dreamer could never give voice to his thoughts. 

“A sable denizen of Kentucky was once asked for an 
opinion as to the sweetest thing on earth. He replied most 
emphatically in favor of ‘dat watermillionl’ His interlocutor 
then asked, ‘Whut erbout ’possum an’ sweet kyarlinas, eh. 
Sambo?’ 

“ ‘ Bress yo’ haht, honey, dey’s too good ter talk erbout!’ 
said Sambo, as the saliva trickled in a pellucid rill down the 
angles of his capacious mouth. 


38 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“If a beautiful woman be substituted for the ‘’possum 
and taters,’ we can echo the darky’s sentiments, even to 
the salivation. 

“In thus eulogizing- woman, my young friend, I by no 
means claim that I understand her. She is by no means an 
open book that he who runs may read. Her subtlety is 
one of her chief fascinations — once understood, the fair sex 
would lose much of its attractiveness. 

“The sentimental side of human nature is prone to 
pin its faith to those things it cannot understand. The 
most beautiful scene fails of appreciation, if we chance to 
catch a glimpse of the scene-shifter and the supe, tugging 
away at the windlass in the wings. The most beautiful 
romance or poem, loses half its charm when we peep into the 
garret where sits the long-haired, dishevelled author, grind- 
ing out his stuff on the head of a flour-barrel by the light of a 
penny-dip. 

“Confound these practical chaps who are everlastingly 
rolling the beautiful cloudland and rosy atmosphere of 
romance away, and revealing the bare boards of realism! 

“No, we must not study woman too closely. If there is 
an atmosphere of illusion about her, let us take the gifts the 
gods provide — and not seek for evidence that our idol is, after 
all, only flesh and blood. It will not do; even a junior student 
can realize how rude the shock may be, when love’s young 
dream becomes an ordinary, every-day, female patient! 

“But do not infer that I am advising you not to study any 
of the various phases of woman nature — I am simply sug- 
gesting that you must learn where to draw the line. 

“The young bachelor who considers himself possessed 
of all the charms of Adonis, must look sharply to his laurels, 
else some lantern-jawed, freckle-faced ‘yahoo’ may wrest 
the prize that has so long been the subject of his waking 
thoughts and nightly dreams, from out his very grasp. 

“You, yourself, may, at this very moment, think your 
prize secure and be calculating on your chances of securing 
enough lucre to fee the minister— but do not dally with fate, 
lest the other fellow cut you out. 

“It has been said by some old writer, that the plainest 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


39 


man, who pays assiduous attention to a woman, may win her 
heart more readily than the handsome fellow, who, secure in 
his serene self-satisfaction, forg-ets to attend strictly to the 
business in hand. Many years ag-o, a celebrated Eng*lishman 
remarked to Lord Townsend— who was noted for his physical 
attractiveness — ‘You, my Lord, are the handsomest man in 
the king’dom, and I, the plainest, but I would g'ive your lord- 
ship half an hour’s start, and yet come up with you in the 
affections of any woman whom we both wished to win, because 
all those little attentions that you would omit, on the score 
of your fine exterior, I should be oblig^ed to pay, because of 
the deficiencies of mine.’ 

“Was it not Burton who said, in that charming- and racy 
novelette. The Anatomy of Melancholy — ‘As a bull, tied to 
a fig- tree, g-rows g-entle on a sudden, so is a savag-e and obdu- 
rate heart mollified by fair speeches’? 

“My boy, when your judg-ment has ripened in the sun of 
the passing years of experience, and your hair has become 
tinged by the frosts of a few winters of gathering wisdom, you 
will realize that I speak the truth, when I say that that most 
complex and fascinating problem — lovely woman — is never 
understood, even in small degree, till the sun of life is well 
along toward its meridian — and then, youth is gone and you 
have naught to offer at the shrine of beauty, save a hard, cold, 
practical, selfish worldliness. 

“But dear me! I had begun discussing the subject of 
woman, from a practical standpoint, and here I am, meander- 
ing on with a lot of sentimental gush, to which nobody but an 
impractical, romantic young fellow like yourself would con- 
descend to listen!” 


“There is one phase of the medico-matrimonial question 
which deserves special consideration. I have sometimes won- 
dered whether the matter is not too one-sided. The aver- 
age doctor is such a slave to his profession, that he simply 
cannot give his wife and family half-way decent treatment. 
I have often thought it would be a good thing to have a 
law prohibiting doctors from marrying until they have 
acquired a competence. But then, I suppose that such a law 


40 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


would condemn most of us to perpetual bachelorhood. Never- 
theless, however, could there be a more doleful fate for a 
charming* woman, than to be tied for life to one of those 
weary, plodding*, careworn, worried, under-paid and unappre- 
ciated creatures who are chained to the g*alleys we know as 
‘g*eneral practice?’ 

“ Extreme cases, you say? My dear boy, it is the finan- 
cially successful doctor who is the extreme case. The aver- 
age family practitioner — and he is the bone and sinew of the 
profession — reminds me of a horse in a treadmill, grinding 
out grist that he never has time, opportunity, or appetite to 
eat. He is a kind of modern Sisyphus, wearily rolling that 
everlasting stone up the hill. By and bye, the stone roller’s 
strength gives out, the stone rolls over him, and there he lies, 
just where he started at the foot of the hill of life, smashed 
flatter than a griddle cake! Oh, ’tis a merry war! — according 
to college announcements. 

“Some doctors reap rich rewards, you say? Yes, but 
the well-to-do specialist is, after all, the gilded puppet. Look 
behind the scenes, and you will see the grey-bearded, stoop- 
shouldered family doctor, bending over the windlass that 
winds the other fellow up and makes him go. Well, I sup- 
pose that’s the general practitioner’s role in the drama of life. 
Your family practitioner is now-a-days only a distributing 
agency from which the specialist draws his profitable cases. 
But the specialist is generous; he doesn’t try to take away 
those weary, thankless, all-night cases, and those dangerous 
contagious diseases from the every-day doctor. But I am get- 
ting sarcastic, and that sort of thing is unnatural for me. — 

“In the words of the congressman from the south, 
‘where was I at?’ — Oh yes, we were talking about doctors’ 
wives: 

“ Speaking of the selection of wives, I know one doctor — 
a type of a hundred others — who evidently had an eye to 
windward when he married. The lady in the case is a past- 
mistress of diplomacy and medico-political intrigue, beside 
whom Disraeli’s reputation and Machiavelli’s malodor are 
weak indeed. She belongs to several churches, and to card 
and social clubs galore, and makes a specialty of drumming 



prominent lady on Michigan avenue (the patient is always 
prominent and lives on Michigan avenue, or Astor street, or 
in some equally fashionable locality) had an attack of appen- 
dicitis, and had been given up by jive doctors before my doctor 
saw her! She pulled through, but my doctor says that if the 
family had delayed sending for him just thirty minutes 
more — !’ 

“ Now, as a matter of fact, my boy, I once overheard this 
lady in the midst of a similar yarn, when I happened to know 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 41 

up practice for ‘my doctor.’ The doctor rarely goes out 
with her — he doesn’t have to; she can do business better 
with him out of the way. It is embarrassing, you know, just 
as she is in the midst of a peroration descriptive of the latest 
exploit of this modern Hippocrates, to have the dried-up, 
microcephalic, weasened little animal appear in evidence. 

“‘Do you know, ladies, I am afraid my poor doctor is 
going to work himself to death? Why, he was out three 
whole nights last week, and didn’t have a wink of sleep! A 


“MY DOCTOR ’’ MAKES A CALL. 


42 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


the circumstances. In the first place, that doctor couldn’t 
lance a g’um-boil without endang’ering’ the internal carotid, 
and in the second place, those three nig’hts were spent in dis- 
cussing" the relative merits of ‘two pair’ and ‘three of a kind.’ 
He did make several calls — of the other fellow’s hand, you 
know — but the only ladies he saw were a choice variety of 
queens — hearts, clubs, spades, and diamonds. They didn’t 
live on Michig'an avenue either, but he found those particular 
lady patients in a cosy corner of the M club! 

“ How do I know? 

“Well,” said the doctor, his eyes gleaming- somewhat 
triumphantly,! thought, as he reflectively caressed a fat roll 
of bills that he took from a corner of his trousers pocket, 
“ a little bird whispered to me,” and deep down in his majestic 
beard he softly whistled an air from ‘The Lady or the Tiger.’ 

I fancied I understood. 


“ Young man, when you do marry, train your wife in the 
way she should go. Let her go to one church, if she wants 
to, for worship only, not for revenue, and take as much com- 
fort out of her little social functions as she pleases, but insist 
that she allude to you as ‘ my husband. ’ ‘ My doctor ’ this, and 

‘my doctor’ that, make one sick! 

“And now, you know the kind of a wife you donH want. 
If you can’t climb the ladder of fame without hanging to 
your wife’s apron strings, you had better ‘blush unseen, and 
waste your fragrance on the desert air.’ 

“ This ‘new woman’ business is not going to help us out 
much on the wife question, although it is likely to solve the 
problem of what to do with our baggy, half-worn and out-of- 
style — but that’s a different matter, and possibly an unprofit- 
able subject. I don’t know much about ‘the new’ woman’ 
excepting what I’ve read. I have learned to speak of some of 
her in feeling terms as ‘It,’ but that’s about as far as I have 
gone. ‘It’ is still a delicate subject, despite her affectation 
of masculinity. 

“But I must be careful what I say, even upon so fresh a 
topic as ‘the new woman,’ for I have recently discovered that I 
cannot possibly be original. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


43 


“ My little daughter, it seems, is greatly interested in my 
literary work, and has been curious to know how I succeed in 
spoiling so much nice paper in so short a time. You are 
aware that spoiling paper is a weakness of mine. 

“One evening recently, while I was sitting at my desk 
with a number of books of reference lying before me, in the 
midst of a desperate attempt to write a speech on something 
I knew nothing about, in response to some ‘hurry up’ toast or 
other to be given at a medico-vaudeville ‘feed,’ I caught her 
standing at my elbow watching me with a mingled expression 
of pity and triumph. ‘Go away, dear, papa’s busy now,’ I 
said. She tiptoed quietly out, and a few moments later I 
heard her telling her young auntie that she now knew how 
her papa wrote so much. She said: ‘These stupid doctors 
think he writes it every bit out of his own head, but he doesn’t; 
he gets it all out of books — e-v-e-r-y word! I know it, for I 
caught him!’ 

“ Dear little innocent! What man has thought and writ- 
ten, man may write. What man hath not sown, that he may 
not reap. 

“ Is it not healthful to have our bump of conceit punctured 
a bit now and then? We know there is nothing new under 
the sun, yet how often do we acknowledge it? We are too 
busy borrowing the product of other people’s brains. Still, 
Shakespeare, Byron, and Milton were borrowers, so why may 
not we little fellows follow suit? As Pope said, ‘so-called 
invention is, of necessity, mere selection.’— 

“But we have forgotten the new woman. 

“There she goes, on her bike, at a sixty-mile clip! My! 
but isn’t she swift? See her bend over her work! She’s 
around the corner already! 

“Well, let her go; distance lends enchantment — if she’s 
not too stout; but a dissolving view of a two-hundred-pound 
female cyclist is — well, isn’t it? 

“But be she thin or fat, be she dark or passing fair, 
things may not be just what they seem. Life may still hold 
fair hopes. Charity suffereth long and is Vm.^—honi soit qui 
mal y fense. Bicycle, or jin de siecle^ or both, she has come — 
we trust not to tarry — unless she doffs those trousers. 



44 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

“Out of the sombre, misty shadows of the past, a pro- 
cession of sweet-faced, bonneted, sorrowful shades come 
trooping- — Priscilla, Abig-ail, Hope, Dorothy, Mary, and Jane! 
Why have you come back to earth to behold these whirling-, 
scorching- burlesques — these travesties on your sex? 


OUT OF THE SHADOWS OF THE PAST. 

“We weep with you, oh snowy-kerchiefed, big--bonneted 
spirits of lovely past femininity! Yet, did you not, in your 
yearning- for emancipation, sow some of the seed that we so 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


45 


sadly reap? Miss Two-Thousand, with her bike and bloom- 
ers, is not less ornamental than you were, with your guns and 
broomsticks — even though she is much less useful. 

“But no affectation of masculine newness will ever 
radically change the fair sex. As Mrs. Browning so beauti- 
fully said of George Sand: 

‘ True genius, but true woman, dost deny 
Thy woman’s nature with a manly scorn. 

And break away the gauds and armlets worn 
By weaker woman in captivity? 

Ah, vain denial! that revolted cry. 

Is sobb’d in by a woman’s voice forlorn! 

Thy woman’s hair, my sister, all unshorn. 

Floats back dishevelled strength in agony. 

Disproving thy man’s name! and while before 
The world thou burnest in a poet-fire. 

We see thy woman-heart beat evermore 
Through the large flame ’ 

“Come, my boy, I’m getting entirely too sentimental! If 
I keep on at the rate I am going, I will soon exhaust all my 
stock of borrowed rhyme and be compelled to improvise 
something for the occasion, and that would be — well, simply 
awful! 

“Let’s have some more punch. — 

“ What! no more? Then I must partake of ‘the solitary 
cup,’ as one of my friends expresses it. — 

“Pshaw! Who could think of the new woman, or any 
other acid, with the taste of that exquisite punch in his 
mouth? 

“But I may as well finish the woman question: 

“What do I think of her in brief? — 

“Well, my wife asked me that same question yesterday 
at dinner, and I said, ‘My dear, the woman is good enough, 
smart enough, and pretty enough for me!’’ Whereat she 
replied, with a pretty show of indignation: 

“‘Think you’re smart, don’t you? but I’m just forty- 
eight, thank you!’ — and there was that pretty compliment 
lost forever. 

“The old woman — I mean this in the figurative, not 
literal sense — cannot be improved upon. The only attempt 


46 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


that was ever made to bring* her mind up to date, was made 
by the Devil in the Garden of Eden. It was a disaster to the 
human race! Now, let all 
modern devils take warn- 
ing*! I’m for the woman 
of yesterday, the woman 
of to-day and the 
woman of to- 
morrow, just as 
nature made 
her, sans mas- 
culinity, sans 
bloomers — sa7is 
everything* that mars the ideal of mother, sister, sweetheart, 
wife and daug*hter. 

And now I am sure you will join me in a toast, borrowed 
from the exquisite rhymes of Edward Coat Pinkney : 



‘I fill this cup to one made up 
Of loveliness alone, 

A woman, of her g-entle sex 
The seeming- parag-on; 

To whom the better elements 
And kindly stars have g-iven 
A form so fair, that, like the air, 
’Tis less of earth than heaven, v 


Her every tone is music’s own. 

Like those of morning- birds. 

And something- more than melody 
Dwells ever in her words; 

The coinage of her heart are they. 
And from her lips each flows 
As one may see the burden’d bee 
Forth issue from the rose. 

Affections are as thoughts to her, 
The measure of her hours; 

Her feelings have the fragrancy. 

The freshness of young flowers; 
And lovely passions, changing oft. 
So fill her, she appears 
The image of themselves by turns, — 
The idol of past years! 



OVER THE HOOKAH. 


47 


Of her bright face one glance will trace 
A picture on the brain, 

And of her voice, in echoing hearts 
A sound must long remain; 

But memory, such as mine of her. 

So very much endears. 

When death is nigh my latest sigh 
Will not be life’s, but hers. 

I quaif this cup to one made up 
Of loveliness alone, 

A woman, of her gentle sex 
The seeming paragon — 

Her health! and would on earth there stood 
Some more of such a frame. 

That life might be all poetry. 

And weariness a name. ’ 

“Well, I declare! if I haven’t allowed my hookah to g-o 
out! — and I am by no means certain that I have not exhausted 
my supply of tobacco. — Sure enough, the jar is empty!” 

The doctor touched his bell as he spoke, and in answer 
to the summons, Pete, his colored servant, appeared at the 
door : 

“See here, Pete, how does it happen that I am out of 
tobacco? I am sure I had a good quantity of Turkish a day 
or two since, and I certainly haven’t smoked much lately!’ ’ 

“Dunno, Marse Doctah, p’raps dar’s sum er lyin’ roun’ 
summers. I done spec I’d bettah look ‘roun’, sah, an’ see ef 
I kin fine some.” 

“I ‘spec’ you had better look around, you ornery black 
imp — and be sure you find some too, or there’ll be a serious 
accident in your family!” 

As Pete, with a mock expression of terror, disappeared, 
the doctor said : 

“ There’s a spoiled nigger, if there ever was one! I dare 
say that black rascal has five pounds of my tobacco, more 
or less, concealed about the premises somewhere. He 
doesn’t mean to steal, but he has conceived the notion that 
my tobacco is sweeter than that from any other source — 
especially if he filches it. His hereditarily predatory 
instincts simply come to the surface under the stimulus of 
his unholy appetite for that particular brand of tobacco.” — 


48 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“So, you succeeded in finding* some, did you? Well, 
seeing* you are such a brilliant success as a commissary, 
I deputize you to attend to the filling* of this jar to-morrow, 
and see that you don’t forg*et it — unless you are looking* for 
serious trouble!” 

Pete looked decidedly shame-faced, but merely said, 
“Yes, Marse Doctah, dis chile ’ll ’membah sho’ nuff!” and 
disappeared. 


“Isn’t it queer, my boy, that we doctors preach so vig*or- 
ously ag*ainst the tobacco habit and yet become such invet- 
erate smokers ourselves? 

“Another puzzling thing is the fact that one gets so 
wedded to some particular smoking apparatus, that no sub- 
stitute ever tastes so sweet. Your Irishman smokes his old 
clay pipe, and the stolid Dutchman his meerschaum; the 
pipes are totally unlike, yet each is ready to swear that his 
own is sweet as a nut, while the other fellow’s is positively 
offensive. 

“ I do not know how I first became addicted to the luxury 
of the Turkish pipe, but it is certain that nothing else gives 
me a perfectly satisfactory smoke now-a-days. It may be 
imagination, but it does seem as though the smoke that 
bubbles up through the rose-water in the bowl of my hookah 
is laden with flowery perfume, and free from all heat and 
acridity. Is not the fragrance of the smoke from the oriental 
pipe, comparable to that of the balmy zephyrs from Araby 
that we read about? 

“ When I have put on my Turkish fez and gown, drunk a 
glass of that incomparable punch, and lighted my hookah, I 
lie back in my comfortable, stuffy old chair, and am as 
langourously, dreamily, pensively happy as one could hope to 
be in this world. All my ways are bliss, and all my paths are 
peace! 

“ Did I but sit cross-legged on a soft, luxurious mat, I 
might sing with all the fervor of an ardent devotee of the 
prophet, ‘Would I Were the Sultan Gay!’ I need naught but 
the voice of the bul-bul — whatever that may be — and a dis- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


49 


“Then there is the fairy Nicotiana, a goddess of fair, 
yet majestic mien, who waves her golden wand — an 
impenetrable barrier between me and a horde of howling 
devils, lead by Carking Care, and flanked by Regret, Despair, 
Misgiving, Discontent, and many other flerce and relentless 
demons! 

“Ever and anon, my fairy plays the amazon, and, with 
a most warlike flourish of her fair white hand, drives the howl- 



solving view of the gorgeous interior of a harem, to transport 
me to the paradise of the faithful. 

“And I am attended by beautiful slaves, chief among 
whom are hancy, Imagery, and Fantasy — slaves who fan me 

with perfumed leaves, 
cool my brow with 
scented waters, soothe 
me with soft, sweet lulla- 
bies, and paint most 
beautiful pic- 
tures on the 
horizon of 
my hopes. 


“EVER AND ANON, 

MY FAIRY PLAYS THE 
AMAZON.’* 


so 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


ing- horde back into the yawning- hole in the bowels of the 
earth from whence they came! 

“And such music as that other fairy, Reverie, bring-s! — 
None but the exalted sensibility of an ear attuned by the 
sensuous thrilling- of nicotine, e’er heard strains so divinely 
sweet! 

“ Sir Walter Raleig-h — that bloody, brag-g-ing-, blustering 
old swash-buckler — did much for civilization by popularizing 
the fragrant leaf of the Old Dominion. I question much 
whether the potato has fairly held its own in the race with 
tobacco, on which the sturdy old cavalier started it. It is 
possible that Shakespeare has left as enduring a record as did 
Raleigh, but I doubt it. Incense is at this moment being 
offered up at a million shrines by millions of devotees, to the 
memory of Sir Walter and their patron saint — the goddess 
Nicotiaiia! 

“And what has not tobacco done for literature? Come, 
oh toiling slave of the lamp, and bear an undeserving 
brother testimony! Whether thou hast been writing, or read- 
ing what is written, hast thou not drunk of the waters of 
inspiration distilled from the sweetly-pungent tobacco leaf? 
Hast thou not inhaled some of that sacred fire that burns 
upon the altar erected to the divine Nicotiana? — hast not 
inhaled the perfume of the celestial incense? 

“ How true the words, how sweet the sentiment of Le 
Gallienne — 

‘With pipe and book at close of day, 

Oh what is sweeter, mortal, say? 

It matters not what book on knee. 

Old Isaak or the Odyssey; 

It matters not, meerschaum or clay — 

And though our eyes will dream astray. 

And lips forget to sue or sway. 

It is enough to merely be — 

With pipe and book. 

What though our modern skies be gray, 

As bards aver? I will not pray 
For soothing death to succour me. 

But ask this much, O Fate, of thee, 

A little longer yet to stay — 

With pipe and book. ’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


51 


“ My boy, we doctors may preach ag'ainst tobacco till 
doomsday, but the precept of the consultation room will 
never accord with the example of our hours of ease and 
relaxation. 

“But doctors are human, after all — in or out of the con- 
sultation room — and it is possible they may err in reg’ard 
to tobacco. If they are rig-ht and it is injurious — well, that 
simply verifies the old adag-e that there is such a thing- as 
‘too much of a g-ood thing-’ — that’s all. 

“Do you know, my young- friend, that tobacco contains 
the whole of philosophy? What would the g-alley-slave of 
the garret do without it? How many wounded spirits it has 
consoled — how many pangs of hunger allayed! 


“When caustic critics, with a jealous eye, 
Your best work smash to smithers — 

Or the dear, stupid public will not buy. 
And your landlord g-ives you shivers. 
Why, 

just 

smoke ! 


When your commutation ticket’s run out. 
Your slate broken by the grocer, 

When your mind’s in darksome cruel doubt 
If you can pay what you owe sir. 

Why, 


just 


smoke ! 


When 

Why, 


just 


smoke ! 


“Oh philosophy! — oh stoicism! — oh genius! — bow down 
at the shrine of thine airy, bewitching, volatile, seductive, 
soothing, enslaving, aromatic, spicy, fantastic, tutelary god- 
dess — Nicotiana! ” 


“ Speaking of doctors’ opinions, I heard a couple of good 
stories the other day, at the expense of a very eminent 
medical gentleman ’way down in Texas : 

“A jolly, fat, genial and lovable old medical philosopher, 
dropped in at the office of a certain medical editor — the 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


52 

victim of the stories — and, according’ to the latter, descanted 
as follows : 

‘“Hudson,” he said to the book-keeper— Hudson was 
busily eng-ag-ed in footing- up the expense account and vainly 
attempting- to make it come inside of receipts — I was laboring- 
on a manuscript that would have discounted Horace Greeley’s 
worst specimen — the proof-reader was writing- a love letter 
while the office boy was whistling “Henrietta — Have You 
Met Her?” keeping time by a tattoo with both hands and 
feet. 



“haven’t got it on your belly, have you, SKAGGS?’’ 

‘“Hudson,” said the doctor, “I’ve got a good one on 
Dan’els” — and here he chuckled till the shovel and tongs and 
other costly office furniture rattled. “You know Dan’els is 
a great dermatologist — I don’t think — got a big reputation 
for skin diseases down at the Wallow, any way. I’ve got a 
case of skin trouble down there that’s pestering me, and 
after I had done for him ’bout everything I knew, I brought 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


53 


him up here to consult Dan’els. I thoug’ht ’twas eczema, and 
treated it as such; told Dan’els I thoug-ht so. 

‘“Well, the patient — his name is Skag-gs; he’s a sorry- 
looking- cuss — said he’d scratched, an’ scratched, till he 
was par’lyzed in both arms. The fellow rolled up his sleeves 
and britches leg-s, and Dan’els put on his specs and examined 
the fellow’s limbs carefully — asking- him some questions. 
Then he raised up, and, removing- his eye-g-lasses, said very 
impressively, in that g-rand oracular manner he has, em- 
phasizing- with his fore-fing-er — 

“It’s psoriasis, doctor; psoriasis g-yrata — a well-marked 
case — a bea-utiful case? You see, doctor, the distinguishing- 
features are — the uniform elevated areas of infiltrated tissue, 
the enclosed areas of sound skin, the uniform redness and 
the persistent dryness; but, more than all — its occurrence 
only on the extensor surfaces. Now, you see, doctor, this 
man has it on the extensors of the arms and legs, and on his 
back. The absence of it on the breast and abdomen shows — 
Here, you” — turning to Skaggs, “Never had it on your belly, 
did you, Skaggs?” 

“‘Belly nuthin’!’ said that individual. Why, doc, hit’s 
all over me; an' er diirned sight wuss in front than any place 
else!' 


‘“Reminds me,” said the fat and happy doctor, con- 
tinuing, “of my old partner, Thompson — when we were in 
practice together down at Hog Wallow. He had a case of 
chills and fever that gave him a lot of trouble. He had done 
for it about all he could, but the chills wouldn’t stay broke 
more’n about three weeks. One day we were sitting in the 
office, smoking, and Thompson was telling about a case he 
had cured after everybody else had given it up — when in 
comes his ague case. ‘Wall, Doc.,’ says he, with the most 
woe-begone expression, ‘I had ’nuther one o’ them shakin’ 
agers yistidy!” 

“‘Well, Lorenzo,’ said Thompson, throwing himself 
back with a top-lofty air, and sticking his thumbs in the arm- 
holes of his vest, ‘I’ll tell you what you do.— You know that 
spring, down back of your house? The run, you know, 


54 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 



always keeps up a 
big’damp place there; 
that’s the cause of your chills. 

It’s malaria, you see, my boy. 

Now, you plant sunflowers all 
along- down that spring- branch — sun- 
flowers absorb all the malaria, you 
knows that’ll break ’em up, sure pop; 
never knew it to fail ! ’ 

“‘Lor! shucks. Doc!’ said Lor- 
enzo, with a cadaverous smile, Hhat 
air spring rtm's been growed up with 
them durned sunjlowei's for four years 
an'' more — acres an' acres of 'em/' 

“‘D n it!’ said Thompson — Hhen 

cut 'em down ! ' " 


“So, you really must be g’oing-! — Dear 
me! it is quite midnig-ht; and this blooming 
hookah is dead out again! But you mustn’t 
stand in the door; it’s draughty, and besides, 
there comes your car. 

“I shall expect you to spend an evening 
with me some time next week. Call me up by 
telephone in a day or two, and I will make a definite engage- 
ment with you. 

“Good night, my boy, good night.” 


SEEING THINGS. 


^HOU bringest naught but calm and restful 
dreams, 

Peaceful skies, cloudless fair and brightly 
blue, 

^ A bed of blissful indolence that seems 
Tho’ all of earth, a bit of heaven, too. 

The balmy air thou fillst with rare 
perfume 

Slumbrous heavy as **the poppy’s breath” — 
The world is one vast garden, 
all in bloom; 

Thou art all of life and yet of death. 
Distilled, thou art so deadly that 
indeed, 

I wonder that I love thee, 
fragrant weed. 



► 

1 .' 


/ 

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L 


c* '* 



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. »• 

k 


I 


) 


I 


I 


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I 




ft 

N 


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X 

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k' 



SUCCESS. 





SEEING THINGS, 



fO, my boy, you did not forget 
^ your engagement. I am 
more than pleased to see you, 
for I am a little morbid 
to-night, and, to tell you the 
truth, I was wondering what 
particular drug in my medi- 
cine case would be most efficacious in 
throwing off the horrors. 

“But I fancy your cheery company and 
a glass of ‘ hot Scotch ’ will be a better tem- 
^ porary corrective of my ‘ blue funk ’ than any 
nauseous drug would have been. The ‘ blues ’ often simply 
mean hepatic laziness anyhow; I am sure they do in my case. 

“Isn’t it queer that our happiness in this world depends 
so largely on the liver? Thank heaven, we don’t take that 
organ with us over the Styx! 

“Toxins, you say? 

“ Oh yes, I know that ‘ toxaemia ’ is the latest thing when 
you don’t know just what’s the matter. I also know that 
your teachers have little faith in cholagogues, but I’ll tell you 
one thing, young man; all the modern fol de rol in the world, 
cannot alter a single clinical fact. My father before me and 
my father’s father before him were distinguished prac- 
titioners of medicine, and they believed in calomel as does a 
Christian in his God. 

“When one of their patients suffered from tedium vitae^ 
or the blues, they didn’t prate of any sort of ^ cemi a but 
said: ‘Humph! malaise — sluggish liver!’ — and ordered blue 
pill, followed by a saline. 


60 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Possibly the liver was not at fault, as they supposed, 
and granting- that it was, perhaps the blue pill and saline 
were not the scientific remedies, but, nevertheless, the treat- 
ment cleared the tong-ue, sweetened the breath, brightened 
up the spirits, and primped up the digestion — making life 
worth living once more. I tell you what, my boy, some of 
your new-fangled notions are — pshaw! you don’t want me 
to flounder about in that particular quag-mire — at least not 
to-night. 

“ Changed my beverage? 

“N — o, not exactly. My wife is away on a visit to a 
sick neighbor, and as she knows better than to trust me with 
the formula of my favorite punch, I have been compelled to 
shift for myself. 

“ Discreet woman! — She is afraid that a knowledge of the 
composition of that punch might have the same effect on me 
that learning the method of making mint juleps had upon a 
poor old negro down south. — 

“A Kentucky gentleman was once traveling on horseback 
through the South. While he was riding along a lonely road 
in Alabama, one warm afternoon, he bethought him of 
refreshment. As he was traveling for his health, he happened 
to have a flask of excellent whisky with him — although not a 
physician, he was familiar with the ‘ ounce of prevention ’ 
and knew enough to be fashionable. 

“Noticing a little ‘shack’ by the side of the road, the 
idea occurred to him that a little cold water on the side 
might add to the enjoyment of the anticipated drink. As he 
rode up to the tumble-down shanty, his nostrils were greeted 
with a pungent, familiar odor that made his mouth water — he 
was in the midst of a luxuriant bed of mint. 

“Standing at the door of the cabin was an old darky — a 
relic of ‘ ’fo’ de war’.’ Our traveler accosted him: 

“ ‘ Hallo r uncle; how are you? ’ 

“ ‘ Howdy, sah? Howdy? I’se right po’ly, sah, thankee, 
sah.’ 

“ ‘ Do you live here, uncle? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes, sah, praise de Lawd! ’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


61 


“‘Well, what do you do with that green stuff in your 
front yard? ’ 

“ ‘ Fo’ de Lawd, marster! doan’ do nufhn wid it, sah, jes’ 
nuffin ’tall, sah. Hit’s too bad ter hab dat stuff in de front 
yahd, sah, but we all ain’ g-ot no time fo’ ter pull up de weeds, 
sah, ’deed’n we ain’; ’sides, nobody keers how de weeds g’row 
’roun’ hyah. ’Tain’ like de g-ood ole times on de plantashun. 
Fo’ de Lawd, honey! dar wuzn’t no weeds ’bout dar! ’ 

“‘Look here, uncle, we Kentucky folks seem to be a 
trifle better posted on wet g-oods than yourself, and, as I am 
something- of a philanthropist. I’ll be an itinerant dispensary 
for your benefit, and convert just one heathen before I die.’ 

“By this time the old darky’s eyes were protruding- so 
that they looked for all the world like a couple of big- black 
and white plums. If there is anything- in the universe that a 
darky likes better than ‘’possum an’ sweet kyarlinas,’ it is 
incomprehensibly big words. 

“ ‘ Here’s a quarter for you, uncle; now fly around and 
get me a little sugar and a cup of water! ’ 

“ The old man hustled about and finally managed to get 
the desired articles together. Meanwhile the traveler had 
collected a quantity of the heavenly weed. The sugar was 
evidently of the sorghum variet^q but the water was cold, 
and our wayfarer thirsty, hence the resultant julep was 
hardly open to criticism. 

“Having refreshed himself, the traveler made a good 
stiff julep for his darky friend, who drank it, cautiously at 
first, but finally with such tremendous gulps that the gentle- 
man cautioned him that he might want to use the cup again. 

“‘Fo’ de Lawd, honey! dat’s sweeter’n de honey in de 
comb! Praise de Lawd, dat yo’ done come diser way, sah! 
Praise de Lawd! ’ 

“ ‘ That’s all right, uncle, I’m glad you like it. And now 
I must be riding on. Tell me your name, for I might come 
by this way again some day.’ 

“ ‘ Ma name’s Julius, marster.’ 

“ ‘ Well, good-bye, Julius, and don’t forget how to make 
a mint julep.’ 


62 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“‘Deed’ll I won’t, marster! Good-bye, sah, good-bye, 
an’ de Lawd bress yo’, honey!’ — 

“About a year later, our traveler happened to be in 
Alabama again, and riding along that same dusty, lonesome 
road. Coming in sight of the little cabin, he suddenly 
remembered his friend Julius — and the mint bed. The 



recollection was so thirst-producing that he turned aside and 
approached the shanty. As he rode toward it, he noted a 
desolation as complete as in the wake of a cyclone. The 
mint bed looked as though it had been left out all night in a 
prairie lire, while the shanty was in a condition of repair that 
should have shamed a Georgia ‘ cracker,’ to say nothing of a 
self-respecting old negro squatter. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


63 


“Sitting on the stone that served for a front door-step, 
and leaning lazily against the door, which had partially fallen 
from its hinges, was a decrepit old darky. Beside him were 
a demijohn, a cup, a pewter spoon and a few scraggly, sun- 
burned heads of mint. The old man’s face was pitiful to 
behold, and, taken altogether, he was as abject a specimen of 
physical decay and intellectual demoralization as our traveler 
had ever seen. 

“ ‘ Hallo there, uncle! Can you tell me whether a colored 
man named Julius lives here? ’ 

“ ‘ No, marster; Julius doan’ lib nowhar’ no mo’, sah.’ 

“ ‘ Why, how’s that, uncle? ’ 

“ ‘ Well,yo’ see, marster, Julius he’s dead.’ 

“ ‘ Dead! Why, what was the matter with him? ’ 

Wuzn’t nuffin ’tall de mattah ob him, sah, jes’ nuffin 

’tall. Dar wuz er d d Kentucky fellah done come ’long 

hyah ’bout er yeah ergo an’ done teached Julius ter mix grass 
wid his whisky, sah, dat’s all! 

“ ‘Julius he’s done gone dead fo’ mo’n six monfs, an’ jes’ 
look at me, sah ! jes’ look at me ! De ole man ain’ got long ter 
lingah, sah. Julius’ done dead — an’ dis yeh is de las’ o’ de 
mint! ’ 

“Stricken with remorse, the traveler turned his horse’s 
head away from the desolate cabin, and musingly rode on. 
As he passed the foot of a grassy incline just beyond the 
gate, he saw at a little distance a mound of earth and a white 
wooden slab that he did not remember having seen before. — 

“ ‘Poor Julius! ’ said he, half aloud. ‘A little knowledge 
is, indeed, a dangerous thing. The fates were against thee, 
it seems, for thou didst deeply drink of the Pierean spring. 
It has ever been thus, that the onward march of civilization 
hath carried desolation in its wake! — I came, “not to destroy 
the law, nor yet the prophets, but to fulfill” — and I have 
fulfilled the full measure of thy destiny, oh ebon-hued child 
of nature!’ 

“‘But thou hast found rest. The yelping of the ’coon 
dog, and the plaintive snarl of the fatted ’possum disturb 
thee not! — That grim and uncanny ghoul called “Work-in- 
the-field ” no longer haunts thee, like a hideous nightmare!— 


64 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


The hoe-cake and hominy will nevermore give thee qualms, as 
of vague unrest! — Oft hadst thou gazed upon the festive 
apple-jack when the first letter of its spelling was a capital J.— 
‘E’en whisky straight and barrel-lobbed rum, ne’er ruffled 
thy Senegambian nerve!— But thou didst succumb at last, 
before the nectar of old Kaintuck! ’ 

‘“Remorseful though I be, oh Afric’s stricken son, yet 
do I console me with the thought that I did fill thy soul with 



A DANGEROUS BOTANICAL STUDY. 

joy, and lead thee into Canaan as ’twere with a fairy wand! — 
All thy paths were peace and thy dying couch a bed of roses! ’ 
“ ‘ Vale Julius! May thy death be a warning to thy race! 
Education is a failure and the study of botany is ruin! ’ * 

“I presume that the traveler in the story was himself, 
ignorant of some beverages. If he had known the beauties 
of ‘hot Scotch,’ he would have congratulated Julius on his 
prospects ‘obah de ribbah.’ It is so consoling, you know, to 
feel that there is such a thing as adaptation of beverages to 
climate. — 

•The original incident on which this story was based, was told many years ago 
by Col. Will L. Visscher. I trust the above story has done the darky who died of 
“whisky and greens” full justice. — Author. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


65 


“ Do you know, my boy, something- you asked me about 
morphia, in the quiz the other day, reminded me of a little 
story that may interest you as a student of science? — 

“ Many years ago, when I was a young student of medi- 
cine, I acquired a taste for experimentation upon myself with 
drugs. The result was, after a time, the acquirement of a 
marked degree of tolerance — sufficient to lead me to regard 
certain narcotics with more or less contempt — born of 
familiarity. 

“ Such a thing as the formation of a drug habit, appeared 
to me perfectly ridiculous. No man of sound will or healthy 
judgment, I thought, could possibly become addicted to the 
use of any drug — however pleasant its effects. 

“With a confidence born of experience, and fed by 
youthful blood, with its superabundance of red corpuscles, I 
even went so far as to apply this argument to the master of 
all drugs, aye — to that master of all men — King Alcohol! 

“I am long since past the zenith of life, my boy, and my 
career has been what the world calls a successful one — 
although, to my mind, there is no such thing as ‘ a successful 
man;’ but I firmly believe that my over-weening self-con- 
fidence was a handicap in the battle of life, that good luck 
alone prevented from wrecking me on the way. 

“ Why do I not believe in a successful career? 

“Because, my dear sir, success is not to be measured by 
the opinion of the world, but by the standard of our own 
ambition. Ambition ever o’er-aims the mark it strikes. The 
world sees what we hit, and realizes only such meagre results 
as we actually attain; it sees not that glorious moon which is 
the real target of our ambition, and we, looking past the poor, 
pitiful result that the world applauds, see naught but that 
beauteous prize which is ever beyond our reach. 

“And so, the ‘ successful man ’ fills the measure of his 
years with ungratified longings, and, when the scene closes, 
it is still moonlight; then we bury him, and write eulogies of 
him, and take up a subscription for his family, while above 
his grave the silver moon of his ambition shines on — and will 
forever shine! 


66 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“And so the procession of ambitious fools and ‘successful 
men ’ g'oes on and on, with eyes upon the brilliant g’oal, while 
other g'raves are being filled — with yet other fools. 

“Ah me! the ‘ successful man ’ of to-day is but a modern 
Moses on the highest peak of a Pisgah of hope, gazing at the 
skeletons of the unnumbered millions who have fallen in the 
climbing, littering the valley of life with their weary, broken 
bones. 

“Verily, thou ‘successful man,’ thou shalt see the Canaan 
of thine ambition from afar — but shalt not possess it! The 
silver moon of thy desires shines brightest from the mountain 
top of thy ‘ success ’ — but ’tis there it shines coldest and far- 
thest from thy reach. Do but attempt to grasp it, and thine 
own crackling bones shall go thundering down to join the 
bones of the fools that lie below! Stand still, and thou wilt 
either round out thy span of life in lonely solitude, or be 
pushed into space, by the horde of hungry imbeciles that are 
crowding up so ravenously beneath thee. 

“Jump, poor fool! — Trust to the Icarus-like pinions of 
thine ambition! — The moon will not melt thy wings, but the 
realization of the much hackneyed and shop-worn ‘ sickening 
thud,’ will be a surprise unto thee! — 

“Pardon my rambling digression, my lad; you must 
learn to tolerate my little idiosyncrasies. I am not much of 
a talker at best, and I must be allowed to follow my own 
devious paths of heterogeneous maundering or I can’t talk at 
all. My mind is much like a spoiled child, it has passed 
‘ through the correctionary and into the confectionery period.’ 
It can be coaxed to perform, but severe measures make it 
more refractory and stubborn. If you should try to make 
me talk in your way, the result would probably be like that 
obtained by the lady who said she didn’t believe in punishing 
children. — She claimed she ‘had Johnny at the photographer’s, 
the other day, and whipped him seven times, to make him look 
pleasant, but it didn’t work at all — the proof was a perfect 
fright! ’ 

“As I was saying, in my early experience in medicine, I 
had no faith in the view that there could be any possible 
danger in taking narcotics — if the taker were level-headed 





68 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


and physically fitted for survival. I had heard much of the 
demoralization and depravity resulting- from opium and 
alcohol, but believed that these drugs were, after all, benefi- 
cent in weeding out the unfit. 

“Alas! I saw before me only the broad, beautiful stream 
of life, with its flowery banks and silvery sheen in the sun- 
light of youthful hope and anticipation — I heard only the 
rippling, joyous laughter of dancing waters — I heard not 
the roar of the cataract, farther down the stream, nor the 
cries of the endless procession of the over-confident who were 
toppling over! I saw not the wreckage, the flotsam and j etsam 
of feeble wills and still feebler resolutions, strewn along the 
shoals just beneath the flowery banks! — 

“There I go again! You had best bring an anchor wdth 
you hereafter, or I may drift away from you altogether! — 

“Habit!— I? 

“Oh no, but I have been near enough to realize the 
danger! Many a young doctor, and, for that matter, many an 
old one, has allowed his little hypodermic syringe to become 
much too prominent in his drama of life on some occasions. 
I assure you that doctors are more often thrown in danger’s 
way than other men. I served my apprenticeship with 
the tempter, and it resulted in my becoming master — and 
master will 1 remain to the end — but it might have been the 
other way. It has gone the other way with more doctors than 
the world has ever dreamed of ; morphino-maniacs, like drug- 
store drunkards, are not infrequent among medical men, who 
are but human and often sorely tempted. The proportion of 
those who fall is not large, it is true, but is great enough to 
justify my warning. 

“I cannot say that I ever really became habituated to the 
use of narcotics, but, as I have already intimated, I did lose 
respect for them, and was inclined to make personal use of 
such remedies on occasions when it might possibly have been 
avoided.— Thereby hangs the particular tale which I am about 
to relate to you:” 


“ Many years ago, while living in New York City during 
my term of service as a hospital ‘externe’ before graduation, 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


69 


I became subject to attacks of neuralg-ia involving- the fifth 
nerve. You know how perfectly agonizing- this affliction may 
be. My attacks seemed to be especially severe — without 
being so in fact, perhaps, for young doctors are always 
inclined to magnify their own ailments — and nothing but 
morphia seemed to relieve me. I will frankly confess, how- 
ever, that I by no means tried all of the analgesics in the 
pharmacopoea, before resorting to the lullaby drug. 

“Morphia did not seem to have any untoward effects 
upon me, yet I soon discovered that it required a very large 
amount to secure the desired result — the necessity for a grad- 
ual increase in the dose finally becoming decidedly apparent. 

“ But I still saw no reason why I should not increase the 
dose as the symptoms demanded. You see, I gave myself 
the benefit of a principle taught by a dear old teacher of mine, 
many years ago. The old man used to say: ‘Gentlemen, 
however scanty our resources may be in the treatment of 
disease, there is one blessing that we are always able to 
confer upon suffering humanity — we can, and should, control 
pain!’ 

“The kind old philosopher’s reasoning may have brought 
solace to his own death-bed — he died of cancer! 

“ During one of my most severe attacks of ‘ tic ’ I deemed 
it advisable to remain quietly in bed. My chum, who, like 
myself, had not yet graduated, but was a junior student and 
consequently willing to concede my authority, at least in my 
own case, gave me, at my solicitation, a large dose of morphia, 
then, with wishes for my speedy recovery, left me and went 
to college. 

“Within a very short time I realized that the dose I 
had taken was not likely to accomplish the desired result. I 
therefore concluded to take another. My hypodermic was 
conveniently near, and I had plenty of morphine in stock, so, 
to make assurance doubly sure, I took a double quantity. 

“A few minutes later, things began to look queer. 
According to precedent, I should have gone to sleep, but I not 
only did not, but could not when I tried! That’s the way 
morphia acts with some people, you know. We say it’s the 
result of idiosyncrasy or personal peculiarity, but when we 


70 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


are pinned down to facts, we can only use some more big" 
words, that serve to make our ignorance still more evident. 

“ For some reason, I found myself continually staring 
at the mantel-piece. Now, there was nothing about that 
part of the room that was particularly interesting; it was 
an ordinary boarding-house mantel-piece, made out of some 
left-over-from-grandpa's-monument marble. The customary 
orthodox garnishments of an immodest little terra-cotta 
Cupid and a gaudy plaster-of-paris soldier, at either end of 
the mortuary relic, stood gazing fishily into space with their 
usual calm and dignified reserve. 



“It so happened, however, that some weeks before, I had 
decorated the centre of the gruesome slab with a couple of 
skulls. One of these gems of virtu was the skull of a defunct 
Chinaman — the other being that of a new-born babe, that I 
had secretly prepared in the attic of my boarding-house. 
Strange to say, the far more awesome statuettes upon the 
mantel did not interest me; my attention was concentrated 
upon the skulls! They were beautiful specimens, it is true, 
yet I was not in a frame of mind to appreciate their many 
good points. Possibly I was fascinated by the conceit that 
the parties of whom they were relics couldn’t have tic dolo- 
reux — they didn’t have nerve enough and / did! Their 
Gasserian ganglia were a minus quantity, while mine were 
ultra plus — with accent on the plus! Obviously, those people 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


71 


couldn’t luxuriate in morphia — I had ’em there! For once, I 
was the brig-ht particular star of the occasion and the other 
players must needs play minor parts. — 

“ So absorbing- did the contemplation of the skulls become, 
that I found myself g-azing- upon them with a feeling- akin to 
fascination — I really became quite sociably inclined toward 
them, and I fancied the larg-er skull had a reciprocal expres- 
sion in his cavernous orbits, while his little companion seemed 
childishly gleeful. 

“I was on the point of opening a conversation with the 
senior skull, but, upon reflection, refrained. The gentleman 
of osseous mould might have considered that I was taking an 
unfair advantage of him; his opportunities for travel and 
observation had been somewhat limited, since he had passed 
into my society via the dissecting-room and kettle. To be 
sure, he might have talked about himself, but I doubt not 
that he knew some matters of personal history, that it would 
have been indelicate to listen to — I mean, of course, from the 
standpoint of the police bureau. The social purist would 
doubtless have heard nothing objectionable — the admixture 
of a liberal quantity of chloride of lime in the fluid in which 
the skull had been boiled, had certainly removed everything 
suggestive of the world, the flesh, and the devil — and yet, he 
may have conducted an opium joint at some time or other. 

“ To be sure, my weird friend and companion might have 
spoken of his young comrade, who was far too young to know 
much, or care anything for the feelings of his family. But 
the elder skull had probably learned a thing or two during 
his somewhat eventful career, and had doubtless learned still 
more since he had become un bon ca^narade of a couple of 
rollicking young medicine men. He certainly realized that 
accidents will happen in the best regulated families, and he 
well knew that obstetrics and secrecy go hand in hand. 
Besides, supposing his young friend did happen to know a 
wee bit of the world and had developed a hyperaesthetic 
sensibility? 

“Then, too, the Chinese gentleman might have talked 
‘Pigeon English’— a language with which I was not especially 
familiar. 


72 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ No — obviously it would not do to enter into conversation 
with my mortuary friends, unless they themselves assumed 
the responsibility and beg’an it! 

“But my g^hastly companions and I stared at each 
other until I had a tired feeling in my head, and fancied 
that even they turned their ball-less orbits away in some 
embarrassment. 

“ Such is the power of the human eye, that one can stare 
even a skull out of countenance — and, by the way, a skull is 
excellent to practice upon. 

“ I give this gratuitous hint for the benefit of that remark- 
able degenerate freak of the genus ho7no known as the 
‘masher.’ It might be well for him to use skulls in his pro- 
fession, as a staple addition to his stock in trade. I can 
recommend them — they can’t talk back, and what is especially 
consoling, they can’t tell a policeman, or set the dog on you, 
or poke you in the eye with an umbrella; and they haven’t any 
husbands, or fathers, or big brothers, with such a lack of 
respect for harmless flirtations, and such disproportionately 
big, cruel fists and double-soled boots! 

“ Have a skull with me, ‘Cholly!’ They’re nevah wude, 
you know. — 

“You’re more than welcome, deah boy. — 

“Speaking of the civility of skulls, what a jolly com- 
panion the cranial remains of a defunct scold would be to her 
once hen-pecked husband! Since cremation came into vogue, 
we have heard much of the widow who puts papa’s ashes in 
a vase on the mantel along with the other bric-a-brac. It is 
so easy for the sweetly-mournful lady to satisfy her conscience 
by supplying an elegant receptacle for the dear departed — 
then, too, he is so ornamental in his new quarters! 

“ Should the bereaved one marry again, a small quantity 
of ashes thrown in the eyes of ‘number two,’ from time to 
time, wins his respect and loyalty and gives him a due appre- 
ciation of the many irritating virtues of ‘ number one.’ — 

“ But a skull! Why, cremation is nowhere beside careful 
cranial preparation! 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


73 


“With what 
tender sentiment 
could the sorrow- 
ing- fair one point 
to the many and 
sterling- virtuesof 
him she mourns 
so g-rievously — 
and with what 
placid resig-na- 
tion mig-ht a sor- 
rowing- husband 
reg-ard the bony case that once confined the soul of his 
lamented Xantippe! 

“Then, too, think of the subject from a strictly utilitarian 
standpoint. When sawn across and carefully hing-ed, a well 
prepared skull makes the nicest tobacco box imag-inable; 
while, if detached, the calvarium is a convenient and most 
aesthetic drinking- cup. Should a sorrowing- widow be fond 
of pets, she mig-ht use her departed partner’s brain-pan as 
a nest for white mice, or a bath-tub for her canary birds, or 
something- of that kind. 

“But I fear my plan will never become popular, so I will 
refrain from g-iving- you the thousand-and-one other arg-u- 
ments in its favor. 

“But to return to the particular skulls that stood on my 
mantel : 

“As I lay back upon my pillow, watching- my usually 
dig-nified friends, I fancied the younger one was wagging 
its toothless jaws at me. Not being possessed of a vivid 
imagination I was at first somewhat surprised at this phen- 
omenon, but, subsequently recalling the morphia I had taken, 
was not especially disquieted. 

“After my little friend had made a few more faces at me, 
however, I concluded I had best look the other way, so 
resolutely turned my face toward the wall, and tried to sleep. 
Click! click! click! as of the snapping of bones, came from 
the direction of the mantel. 



74 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“All ideas of repose now left me, and, realizing- that 
morphia had no license to g-ive me aural as well as visual 
hallucinations, I sat up in bed and somewhat critically 
inspected my infantile tormentor. 

“Click! click! snap! That blooming- skull actually 'ivas 
in motion and distinctly snapping- its hideous jaws at me! 

“As thoug-h desirous of g-iving- me a little variety, the 
skull now chang-ed its performance, and beg-an rocking- and 
rolling- from side to side, like a drunken sailor, rattling- 
ag-ainst its g-hastly companion and dancing- hilariously about 
on the mantel, with a sound like castanets! 

“I did not recog-nize the steps ; I was rusty, you know, 
but could plainly discern a painfully labored effort to jig-. 

“Whatever the skull was attempting- to do, it proved to 
be a capital entertainer, and no vaudeville star ever secured 
such undivided attention. You have perhaps seen an audi- 
ence rise in responsive appreciation of a decided hit — well, 
my hair enacted the role of audience to perfection. 

“After reasoning- the matter over for a while, I ag-ain fell 
back upon the morphia theory, feig-ned indifference — thoug-h 
I was in a cold perspiration the while — and once more turned 
my back upon my troubles. 

“But the skull evidently objected to my lack of socia- 
bility, for it beg-an dancing- more vig-orously than ever. So 
emphatically did it protest ag-ainst my indifference, that I was 
by no means surprised when the bony little imp, with a final 
saucy kick, rolled off the mantel upon the floor — narrowly 
missing an impromptu cremation in the open grate on the 
way! 

“It was rather pleasing to hear the apparently destruc- 
tive ‘smash!’ with which my quondam entertainer struck the 
floor! I now keenly regretted its lack of sensory nerves — 
the knowledge that the fall had been painful to the skull 
would have greatly delighted me. 

“ Notwithstanding the apparently satisfactory conclusion 
of the cranial war-dance, I began to question the authority of 
morphia in the premises. That skull certainly had fallen to 
the floor — no one was near it, and it obviously could not have 
rolled off the mantel without some physical agency! There 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


75 


was evidently something* very strang*e, and somewhat dis- 
turbing*, about the osteolog*ical exhibition I had witnessed. 

“ There was no further disturbance upon the mantel 
however, so I finally decided to be indifferent, and try to sleep 
once more. I had not been frig-htened, oh, no! but it seemed 
advisable to take some more morphia, and thus prove my 
faith in the cause of my hallucinations as well as my indiffer- 
ence to consequences. — 

“But sleep obstinately refused to put in an appearance, 
and finally, despairing* of its arrival, I sat uprig*ht in bed, and 
almost as a matter of habit, g*azed somewhat fearfully at the 
mantel — only to discover that I was still seeing* thing’s — that 
were even more surprising than the jig which the skull had 
improvised for my benefit! 

“A short distance from the portion of the mantel 
occupied by the skulls, was a small, framed photograph. 
Leaning against this familiar object, was a queer-looking 
individual who had evidently dropped in without an invitation 
— a little chap about three inches in height, dressed in the 
uniform of a soldier ! He was as gay as you please, his cap 
being surmounted by several long plumes that were waving 
about in a manner most martial and defiant. The air of bra- 
vado with which he regarded me was entirely uncalled for 
and decidedly unbecoming, considering that his society had 
been forced upon me. 

“ I cannot say that I was nervous now, for, while the affair 
was becoming quite interesting, I was not afraid of gentlemen 
who were no nearer my own size than was my guest, besides, 
I knew how to settle him. I was armed with a hypodermic 
syringe — and I lost no time in loading it. 

“As my little visitor was not within easy reach, and 
William Weymouth was, I concluded to forego the pleasure of 
discharging my weapon at the enemy, and as a substitute, 
fired a huge charge of morphia under my own skin, after 
which I soon forgot my visions. 

“When I awoke, it was high noon; Jack had returned 
and was standing at my bedside speculating on the remark- 
ably soporific effect of the single small dose of morphia that 
he had given me on leaving in the morning. The skulls were 


76 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

in their usual places upon the mantel, and my little soldier had 
disappeared ! — 

“I proceeded to relate my experience with the bric-a- 
brac, to my chum, and concluded by an eloquent extempore 
scientific disquisition upon the psychic effects of narcotics. 

“‘But,’ said Jack, ‘that small skull was on the floor — I 
replaced it myself, supposing* that it had been knocked down 
by the maid in dusting- about, and was wondering- how long- it 
had lain there!’ 

“This was substantial enoug-h at any rate, and I. asked 
him to examine the photograph. Behind it, he found, to our 
astonishment, a huge moth, clinging to the picture frame, 
perfectly upright, its damp wings folded closely around it and 
its feathery plumes waving about its head just as when it 
played soldier for me! On inspecting the culprit skull, I dis- 
covered within it a huge cocoon that I had found in Central 
Park some time before, and placed within the skull for safe- 
keeping! The birth of the huge moth and his struggles to 
free himself, had supplied the entertainment that I had been 
having. 

“You see, the skull actually did dance a jig, and there 
really was a little soldier — a most material explanation of a 
weird and startling experience. 

“But my scientific observations of the psychic effects of 
morphia were knocked in the head, and another valuable 
contribution to medical science was lost forever! I have 
always been sorry that Jack found that moth — but then, he 
always was a practical chap, and delighted in throwing cold 
water on my pet schemes and elaborate, newly-fledged 
theories. 

“ Whenever I have since had occasion to use narcotics, I 
think somewhat regretfully of that early experience. I am 
something in the same state of mind as a certain young 
gentleman who was subject to delirium tremens. He had 
had exacerbations of this disease at such frequent intervals 
for some years, that he had become quite inured to them. 
Indeed, his friends had for some time regarded the attacks 
as a matter of course, while his physician had long since lost 
all anxiety as to their outcome. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


77 


“One morning-, however, the doctor was hurriedly sent 
for, and found his patient in a thoroughly demoralized 
condition. — 

“ ‘ Why, Henry, what’s the matter?’ asked the doctor. 

“ ‘ Oh, doctor, I’m going to 
die! — I had ’em again last night! ’ 
“ ‘ Yes, but that doesn’t prove 
that you are going to die; you’ve 
‘had ’em’ regularly about once a 
month, ever since I made your 
acquaintance, and you’re not 
dead yet; so brace up, old man! ’ 
“‘Yes,’ said the mournful 
one, ‘but this time it was 
different.’ 

“ ‘ How so? ’ asked his medical 
comforter. 

“‘Well, you know I used to 
see elephants and lions, and — 
and a big boa-constrictor and rattlesnakes; and there — there 
was a pretty little zebra, with stripes all running lengthwise. — 
He was gone last flight and I couldnH find him anywhere! 
Oh, doctor! I know I’m going to die this time.’ ” 


“ The story of the lost zebra reminds me of another case 
of dipsomania, which was not only amusing, but demonstrated 
the diplomacy and shrewdness of some victims of alcoholism: 

“A certain gentleman of this city has for many years 
been a perfect slave to the drink habit. It so happens that 
he is a man of powerful physique, and liquor has apparently 
never caused him much physical harm. As a consequence, 
the entreaties of his many friends have usually gone for 
naught. — 

“ ‘ Said he: ‘ Now look here, boys, if I was like some fel- 
lows and had the D. T’s. occasionally, it might be different, 
but, you know, liquor never hurts me; my health is always 
good, and if I want the fun of an occasional spree, where’s 
the harm? You just wait until whisky injures me — then you 



78 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


may talk about my getting- cured! At present writing, 
gentlemen, I don't want to he cured !' — 

“And so our friend went on in his evil ways, to the sorrow 
of his friends and the despair of his heart-broken wife and 
family. 

“ Matters at length came to such a pass that the bibulous 
gentleman’s wife appealed to several of his intimate friends, 
among whom was a certain doctor. At the suggestion of the 
latter, a scheme was concocted, which, it was believed, would 
so frighten the dipsomaniac that he would gladly embrace 
any prospect of a cure of his embarrassing failing, no matter 
how remote the promise of recovery. 

“ Having apprised the gentleman’s wife and secured her 
co-operation — she being so desperate as to be willing to 
undergo what bade fair to be a severe ordeal for herself 
— the plans were perfected for a novel experiment in dipso- 
therapeutics. 

“A dinner party was arranged at the victim’s house, and, 
at the appointed time, the conspirators were on hand and 
ready for business. — 

“At the conclusion of the dinner, when the wine was 
flowing freely and the host was beginning to feel a trifle 
hilarious, one of the guests slyly took from his pocket a 
couple of huge rats — previously prepared by extracting their 
teeth— and dropped them on the floor. 

“It was not long before the host noticed the animals — 
he started slightly, smiled, and turned to his wife with the 
remark, ‘Well, it seems we have several un-invited guests.’ 

“His wife looked at him in blank amazement for a 
moment, and then diverted his attention to some other topic — 
it was evident to her husband that she thought he was out of 
his head, and was trying to prevent him from attracting the 
attention of the guests to his condition. 

“The rats, meanwhile, were running about all over the 
floor, but nobody paid the slightest attention to them. At 
last our friend could stand it no longer, and said: 

“‘For heaven’s sake, madam, have John chase those 
confounded rats out of the room!’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 79 

“ ‘ Rats! ’ exclaimed his wife, rising in feigned alarm, 

* what rats? ’ 

“‘Why thc7‘c! Are you blind, or what in thunder ails 
you? ’ — 

“ The guests regarded our friend with extreme solicitude 
and alarm, and unanimously asserted that sawno rats! 

“By this time, Mr. began to realize what had hap- 

pened — physical evil from liquor had at last arrived ! 

“ He was lead gently from the room, given a dose of 
chloral and bromide, and as his friends now had him right 
where they wanted him, they began reasoning with him, and 
soon succeeded in convincing him that people who saw rats 
when other people couldn’t, were in a somewhat alarming 
condition and needed treatment — a proposition with which he 
finally agreed. — 

“ ‘Now, old fellow,’ said his doctor friend, ‘you see how 
necessary it is for you to be cured of your cursed appetite for 
liquor. The next stage will be — ahem ! will be softening of 
the brain, or hardening of the liver, or something like that, 
and it’s not very far off either! Now, I’ll tell you what you 
do. As soon as you have had your breakfast to-morrow 
morning, you get aboard a train and start for Keeley’s place. 
If you don’t do it voluntarily, we’ll chain you in the baggage 
car and label you, “ Feed and water and put off at Dwight! ’’ 
— Come now, old man, what do you say ?’ 

“‘Well, I’ll go boys,’ said the thoroughly scared and 
penitent man. 

“ Mr. ’s wife was delighted with the result of the 

conference, and there was great rejoicing in the household — 
yea, even unto the cat in the garret — to whom seeing rats 
always was a serious matter ! ’ 

“After warm, mutual congratulations had lasted for 
some time, the party broke up. 

“As his friends were about to leave, Mr. remarked : 

“‘I’ll tell you what,boys, I’m mighty glad this thing is 
settled, but I’m dreadfully nervous, and as I probably could 
not sleep for some time, even if I should retire. I’ll walk as 
far as the hotel with you— the fresh air may do me good.’ 


80 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


His friends agreed, and with a g-ood nig-ht to Mrs. the 

party left. 

“Arriving’ at the hotel, Mr. said : 

“‘Now, see here, boys — the die is cast, and from this 
time on I am a chang-ed man ! I start for Keeley’s place in 
the morning-, just because I promised you I would, and to 
please my wife, but I really don’t think I need his treatment 
— I have come to myself. But, of course, it will do me no 
harm and one cannot be too secure you know.’ 

“ ‘As we will not meet ag^ain until I return from Dwig’ht, 
and I am like a condemned criminal the last nig-ht before his 
execution — enjoying- my last nig-ht on earth — I propose that 
we take a farewell drink. Come on, boys, and hel^ me say 
good-bye to the old life ! ’ 

“The ‘boys’ demurred, but the doctor made them 
understand by signs that it was best to humor his patient, 
so they entered the hotel. 

“ The party stood at the hotel bar, celebrating the 
redemption of their old friend until the wee sma’ hours — 
and finally forgot the object of their celebration altogether I 

“As the party was about to break up however, Mr. 

said : 

“‘By the way, boysh, are you, hie! sure ’bout thosh 
rats ? ’ 

“ The boys allowed that they were sure. 

“ ‘ Sure you didn ’ hie ! shee ’em, eh ? ’ 

“‘Quite sure! — No mistake about it! — Dead certain! 
etc., etc.’ 

“‘Shay boysh, ha! ha! ha! — hie! — didn’ I make a lot o^ 
suckers — hie! — of you? Why, I didn’ shee any ratsh, I was 
jesh ’er foolin’, I aint goin’ to Misher Keeley — I don’t — hie! — 
need him ! ’ 

“And he didn’t.” 

“ There goes that infernal telephone again! — 

“Hallo! Hallo! Croup, eh? Very well. I’ll be over 
right away ! 

“If you’ll wait a moment,my boy. I’ll walk to the corner 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


81 


with you. We will not be interrupted at your next visit I 
hope, until I’ve finished a hookah-full, at least ! 

“Why,” I remarked, “what time do you suppose it is? 
Just look at the clock I ’ 

“ Well, well! if it isn’t almost midnig-ht! I mig-ht have 
known it by that telephone messag’el Babies never do g’et 
sick at a seasonable hour.” 

At the corner, the doctor bade me g’ood nig’ht. 



SEVERAL KINDS OF DOCTORS, 



O, dat s er hookah is it, hey — 

Wid dat long, red, snakey stem? 

Niggah nebbah smoke dat er way, 

Luks queer, puffin’ tings like dem I 
Whar’d yo’ git him, marster, say ? 
Turkses smoke sich tings like dat, 

Sets cross4egged on er mat ? 

Chickens smoke em nex’, he ! he ! — 
Sabe us niggahs heap er trubble 

Natchin ’em, hit seems ter me! 
See dat water bile an’ bubble! 
Jes* smell dat smoke ! Well, I Jes’ knows 
Dat ’backer’s mixed wid leabes o’ rose ! 




I 

( 


i 


i 

I 



I 

L_ 







WHEN PHARISEE MEETS PHARISEE, 


THEN COMES — DEATH. 


I 



SEVERAL KINDS OF DOCTORS, 



doctor was just alighting- from his 
buggy when I arrived at his gate. He 
looked tired and worn out, and I was 
just thinking that I had best go on 
without disturbing him, when he 
turned about and saw me. He greeted 
me with his usual cheery voice and 
pleasant smile. How can a man be 
so agreeable as my good old doctor 
friend usually is, when there are so 
many things to try his patience and squeeze 
the sap of good nature out of his veins? — 
“Ah, my lad! I am glad to see you so prompt. 
I am a little tardy myself, to-night — I haven’t seen 
my house since morning. Hallo there, Pete! I 


say, Pete! — 

“ You black rascal! Why weren’t you on the look-out for 
me? Amusing yourself with that infernal old fiddle, after a 
good dinner. I’ll wager! Take the horse around to the stable. 
Give him a good rub down and don’t feed or water him until 
he is thoroughly cool — he has had a hard drive, poor old 


fellow. 

“I really ought to keep another horse, my boy, but — 
well, times are a little tight just now, you know. People are 
using the ‘ hard times ’ excuse to keep their doctors waiting 
for money. 

“ I shall not want you again to-night, Pete. Here’s a half- 
dollar for you. Go out and enjoy yourself — but remember, 
sir, no champagne suppers with your ill-gotten wealth! — 

“ Well, young man, business first and pleasure afterward. 
Go into the library and take it easy until I have had my dinner. 


88 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


And, by the way, don’t muss the library up too much. My 
wife has promised to visit us to-nig-ht, to find out what we are 
talking- about; so we must look our prettiest, in honor of our 
fair g-uest. She says the very sig-htof that library breaks her 
heart, hence we’ll pretend a virtue e’en thoug-h we have it not. 

“ Straighten things up? N — o — I guess you’d better not 
— an orderly library makes me feel out of my element. Mine 
was put in order three years ago — and I’m just beginning to 
find out where things are again.” 

“Ah, my boy! a good dinner is the greatest remedy in the 
world — when your case is properly selected. To say that the 
remedy fitted my case this evening, would not do the subject 
justice. I have been hard at work to-day, I assure you, and I 
was very hungry. 

“ Many cases? Well, no — a single case took up most of 
the day, for it happened to be away out in the suburbs. It 
was really too far away for me to undertake its care, but the 
family is an old one of mine and wouldn’t listen to my 
suggestion to get somebody else. That’s the trouble with 
city practice — your patients scatter to the four points of the 
compass, the first of every May. Your country doctor may 
have long drives, but he gets his mileage, and his patients 
don’t float about much. When a two-dollar family moves 
away ten miles, its care is often inconvenient — especially if 
you like the family. The worst of it is, your just deserts are 
always either too great for the patient’s pocket, or too exces- 
sive for his liberality. It’s rather hard to be tied down to a 
single case, as I was to-day. 

“Oh, yes, mother and child are doing well. 

“The father? Come now, — that’s an old joke, my boy! 
I suppose your professor of obstetrics told it to you to-day. 
It’s the same old battle-scarred veteran that did duty in my 
college days. It would seem that obstetrical professors 
ought to be able to deliver themselves from the old jokes and 
<^some new ones, occasionally — but they are not, apparently. 

“By the way, my boy, there’s more meat in that particular 
old joke than your professor thinks. It is a very important 
matter to know whether the father is doing well or not. If 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


89 


he is doing- well, there’s ag-ood fee in prospect, and if he isn’t 
— well, you 7nay go supperless to bed. For my part, I had 
my dinner arrang-ed for this morning, else I shouldn’t be 
very good-natured myself to-night. 

“‘Ahem!’ said fater familias^ ‘I’m a little short just 
now, but in a few weeks,’ etc., etc. — and there was my sub- 
stantial practice for the day sacrificed! 

“Will he settle, did you ask? 

“ See here, young man, people who have had two hundred 
and seventy-five days, more or less, in which to prepare for so 
important an event, and fail to do so, are not likely to become 
more thrifty as time goes on. As for the ‘ few weeks ’ 
promises, they are usually mere unadulterated moonshine. 

“ Let me see — the average fee in this section is from 
fifteen to twenty-five dollars. The better classes pay from 
fifty to one hundred — which is very modest, to say the least. 
Ten cents a day for two hundred and seventy-five days is 
twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents. Thirty-six and a little 
•over a third cents a day for the same time is precisely one 
hundred dollars. My! how hard-hearted is the physician 
who expects his fee promptly! 

“ Great Scott ! What a huge credit mark we doctors 
ought to have in the big book — which the pious folks say is 
kept up there somewhere! 

“ Did you ever hear of a patient who couldn’t get medical 
attention? I never did. Sick folks may want for flour, meat, 
coal, clothing, and shelter, but they can always get a doctor, 
some way or other. 

“ Did you ever notice that the dear public never pays the 
slightest attention to the impositions which the medical pro- 
fession allows to be put upon itself ? Just let a doctor charge 
some rich fellow a good fee for work well done, however, and 
note the howl of protest! To be sure, the fee for saving a 
millionaire’s life is rarely more than he would willingly pay 
for the care of a thoroughbred equine favorite — but there’s 
a howl, all the same. Possibly, after all, the public has 
■of ten-times a more correct impression than we, as to the 
comparative value of the lives of the two animals. 

“ But here comes Mrs. Weymouth. — 


90 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Well, my dear; you have at last succumbed to that 
over-weening* weakness of your sex — curiosity. I suppose 
you have been worrying* your poor little head over our 
occasional seances until you just couldn’t stand it any long*er, 
eh ?— 

“No, my dear, I was but jesting*. We are only too g*lad 
to have your charming* company. You don’t mind the 
hookah?— I thoug*ht not. Possibly you wouldn’t object to a 
g*lass of this punch? No? Well, you don’t seem to have the 
confidence in the artist who makes it, that we have — eh, my 
boy? 

“ To tell you the truth my dear, I should have invited you 
to participate in some of our various talks before, had I not 
been afraid of boring* you. 

“You see, my lad, I never talk shop with my wife — she 
has bother enoug*h, without sharing* in the burdens of my 
practice. 

“ Now that you are here, Mrs. Weymouth, I hardly know 
what to talk about. I think it mig*ht be well to g*ossip, as 
women do at their little g*athering*s. They usually talk about 
other women, who happen to be absent, do they not? 

“Our conversation before you came in, was somewhat 
desultory it is true, but bore upon the personal experiences 
of many doctors. I don’t know as I could do better than talk 
a little about the other fellow, and say something* of various 
types of men whom I have met in the profession. Remember 
now; I am supposed to be on the outside, peeking* over the 
fence, and you are to g*et my impressions just as I receive 
them. 

“ With your permission, I shall do like everyone else who 
attempts to show up the other fellow — take g*ood care to'keep 
out of rang*e of the calcium lig*ht myself, and devote my 
attention to manipulating* the machinery. 

“It is to be distinctly understood that nothing* I may say 
has any hypercritical bearing* upon Chicag*o physicians. They 
have been too thoroug*hiy analyzed, and too critically classified 
— key included— by the physicians’ directory, to demand any 
of our valuable time. I may say in passing*, however, that the 
broad line of distinction is, that Chicag*o doctors are divided 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


91 


into two classes — ordinary doctors, and doctors in the Colum- 
bus Building-. The latter are a little — just a very little — lower 
than the ang-els — at least, this is true of those ‘attic ’ or 
fourteenth-story philosophers who chase the festive microbe 
and brew the toothsome • toxin in the laboratory on the top 
floor. Inasmuch as a number of lady doctors occupy offices 
in the sacred Columbian pile; I am not so sure about the 
relative position of the angels. 


“For our purpose 
this evening, it will 
suffice to divide the 
profession into city 
and country doctors: 

“ City doctors are so 
diverse in their charac- 
teristics, 
thatimust 
be content 
with a few 
distinc- 
tive types. 
None of 
them are 
bad,perhaps, but some 
are better than others. 

“ First, we have the 
medical pharisee — I 
say first; because I am 
anxious to get him out 
of the way and proceed 
to more wholesome and 
agreeable topics. — I 
will leave you to judge 
of his numerical 
strength and modify 
the picture as you may 

AN ATTIC PHILOSOPHER. ^ ^ . 

(Intra-Columbian.) SCO fit Contenting 

myself by presenting him as I have often caught him with 
my kodak. 



92 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“There are two kinds of medical pharisees — the lean, 
lank, cadaverous misanthrope, who would make an excellent 
understudy for a funeral director; and the fat, sleek and 
unctuous brother, on whom the cloak of relig'ion rests ever 
so lig-htly — especially on fast days. As success in a worldly 
way, comes to the lean and hung-ry fellow, he frequently 
evolves into the more rotund type. 

“ Whether lean or fat, all pharisees’ souls are cast in the 
same mould — which is smaller than a lady’s thimble. If the 
materialistic theory that the living-, sensitive brain is the seat 
of the soul, be correct, then indeed is a thimble larg-e enoug-h 
to hold that of the medical pharisee. 

“From the very beg-inning- of his professional career, 
the pharisee works the church for what there is in it — very 
much as the coal barons do the mines — and wears his relig’ion 
upon his sleeve, that he who runs may read. He is the true 


‘Christian Scientist,’ who 
has been aptly described 
as one who has no science 
— and less Christianity. 
He belongs to several 
churches — or rents pews 
therein, and manages to 
occupy them all, during 
the brief intervals of his 
exacting practice. He has 
a hired man, who, like 
Yorick, is ‘a fellow of 
infinite jest,’ whose deli- 
cate sense of humor im- 
pels him to call out the 
pharisee in the midst of 
services, to attend an 
imaginary patient. 



“Did you ever notice the 
pharisee’s hired man? 
He is usuallv a red-headed 


“swallyin’ his cud.” 


Irishman of recent importation, with a brogue that you could 
spread butter on, and a voice like an Italian banana man. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


93 


“Sometimes the doctor’s supe forgets his lines, and then 
there’s trouble in the church. I once heard of a case of this 
kind: The doctor had drilled his servant very carefully, 
with the result that the Hibernian poked his head through 
the church door during the morning service and called out — 
‘Docthor Jones! Docthor Jones! Mrs. Johnson’s baby do bes 
afther swallyin’ his cud, an’ she sez will yez come quick!’ 

“But of course, the pharisee is not responsible for the 
pleasantries of his man Friday. Neither is he responsible 
for the vagaries of the clergyman, who announces from the 
pulpit that, ‘ through divine aid and the skillful ministrations 
of our dear brother. Doctor Pharisee, our beloved sister, Mrs. 
Fourhundred, has recovered from her serious illness.’ This, 
by the way, is not an unusual occurrence. I heard a very 
amusing story in this connection, the other day. A certain 
Chicago clergyman announced from the pulpit — ‘ Our dear 
sister, Mrs. X, is suffering from a serious and painful illness. 

She is being cared for by our dear brother. Doctor G . 

Let us all pray for her safety.’ Knowing the practitioner — a 
very prominent society doctor — I can safely assert that there 
is one preacher in the city who knows his business. 

“A caustic critic of medical men once said: ‘Scratch a 
doctor’s back, and you will find an infidel.’ This was unfair, 
and for the most part untrue, but if you scratch the 
pharisee’s back, you are sure to find a hypocrite. 

“The medical pharisee is very intolerant of other 
people’s opinions, and, according to him, the man who does 
not believe as he does, is beyond redemption. To be sure, he 
prays, weeps, smiles, and exhorts only with his mouth, but 
he has as much faith in the efficacy of noise, in wafting souls 
to heaven, as does the average Chinaman. 

“ The pharisee goeth into the various holy places on a 
Sunday morning, and prays, with a mighty voice, as of sound- 
ing brass and tinkling cymbal! And the burden of his prayer 
is for the ‘welfare of the dear people of the congregation.’ 
He asks ‘that the plague may go by on the other side,’ but 
qualifies by praying that, ‘ in case the affliction should come, 
a good and wise physician like himself, be selected to care for 
the afflicted ones.’ 


94 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“If you would see the medical pharisee at his best, just 
drop a joke somewhere in his vicinity, and see the old fellow 
jump. The effect of dynamite in the hands of an over- 
enthusiastic anarchist, is not a circumstance to that joke. 

“The medical pharisee is a g'reat stickler for ethics; he 
prates on this question ad nauseam, Strang-e to say, however, 
it is at the hands of this ultra-ethical individual, that the 
reputation of the young- doctor who dares flaunt his shing-le 
to the breeze in the pharisee’s neig-hborhood, suffers most. 
He it is, who in consultations, makes diag-noses by intuition, 
and damns the young- aspirant for medical fame, with faint 
praise, or covertly thrusts a blade of uncharitable criticism 
under the young- doctor’s fifth rib. He it is, who says, with a 
scornful intonation, as he feels the pulse of a patient, both of 
whose lung-s are solidified clear up to his neck, ‘ This is not a 
case of pneumonia; the paraphernalia of this man’s brain has 
become obfuscated, with a resultant trans-mog-rification of 
the diaphrag-m, and that’s what makes him short of breath!’ 
— And then the poor patient turns his face to the wall and 
dies, in the sublime consciousness that he at last knows just 
exactly what’s the matter — for hath not the renowned Doctor 
Pharisee spoken? 

“It is the pharisee who gets the weeping crowds and the 
longest funeral procession when he dies — the only honor 
that we grant him with any degree of cheerfulness and 
resignation. 

“Who is more worthy of respect than the consistent 
Christian, who has the courage of his convictions, yet is 
broad and catholic in his tolerance of the conscientious 
opinions of others? — And who is more contemptible than the 
medical pharisee? 

“The pharisee is fond of alluding to himself as a ‘self- 
made man.’ He may be right, but his adoration of his maker 
is no evidence of piety — besides, the job is not always a good 
one, and is nothing to brag about at its best. And does not 
the bible forbid the worship of brazen images? 

“But, after all, the medical pharisee is not a fair type of 
the city doctor — he is but a noxious weed in the broad field of 
city practice. If this weed could only be torn up and 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


95 


destroyed, there would be more of a living chance for 
worthier plants. Unfortunately, however, the pharisee is 
popular; he lives ostentatiously and drives a stylish rig — all 
of which takes with the masses. And the struggling young 
doctor must keep up with the procession or go to the wall. 
Many a doctor’s family has gone threadbare, and even 
hungry, in order that its bread-winner might have an even 
chance with the me4ical pharisee in the struggle of existence. 
Only a doctor, knows the heartaches and disappointed hopes 
that often lie just beyond the swell turn-out of the city 
doctor. Things sometimes look very different when the 
scenes are rolled away, and the bare boards of the doctor’s 
life are revealed. Let those optimistic idiots who say that 
the doctor makes his money easily, try a hand at general 
practice for a short time and they will be a little more liberal 
with the profession.” 


” There is another individual who is an excellent running 
mate for the pharisee — although they can hardly be said to be 
well matched. This fellow is popularly known as ‘Dock.’ 
As we are drawing botanical comparisons, we might call him 
‘Dockweed.’ He, also, has an exacting practice; but, in lieu 
of working the church, he spends the intervals of his arduous 
professional labors in working for the cause of prohibition — 
by surrounding the enemy, so to speak. His capacity for 
whisky is enormous, and his popularity with ward politicians 
correspondingly great. 

“ This is the man of whom the laity says, ‘ He’s the best 
doctor in the neighborhood — when he’s sober.’ I never could 
quite see the logic of this assertion, but everybody has heard 
it, or something similar. As the calcium light of calm 
reflection glitters on the rich carmine of his proboscis, what 
do you think of him? Does he not look wise? Really, I fear 
he knows enough medicine— to be dangerous! This good 
doctor — ‘when he’s sober ’—is a fruitful theme, but it makes 
me so weary to think about him, that I will do no more than 
briefly introduce him, feeling sure that you will be surprised 
to learn that he is an old acquaintance — for I am certain that 
you have met him before. 


96 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 



“This much I will say, however: When anybody tells 
you that a town drunkard can be a g-ood doctor ; believe him — 
providing- he can show a correctly-drawn death certificate for 
the aforesaid doctor. A drunken doctor is a g-ood doctor, and 
can be trusted, when he’s like Mark Twain’s g-ood Indian 
— very, very dead! And when such 
a man prates of his g-reatness, as 
he is likely to do, for he is often one 
of those men with gen- 
ius written upon his 
brow — ‘written there 
by himself' — and com- 
plains because the 
world at large, 
and the profes- 
sion in par- 
ticular, can 
not see it, let 
us be thank- 
ful that some 
people, in 
some direc- 
tions, get just 
about what they 
deserve in this 
world. 

“And now that 
the medical phar- 
isee and the ‘dock’ 
have been weeded out — 
metaphorically — alas! that 
it could not be literally — 
you are perhaps wondering 

,, , , . , DOCKWEED IN PROFOUND REFLECTION. 

whether there is such a 

thing as an ideal city doctor, and what he may be like. I 
have an ideal, which has often been realized in the medical 
profession. Although the particular embodiment of the ideal 
of which I shall speak has long since passed away, the type is 
always with us, and you, perhaps, may know such a one. He 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


97 


was of a type which is very familiar to many people as ‘ Our 
family doctor ’ — even though they may not fully appreciate 
him. 

“ The man who was to me an ideal physician, had grown 
gray in the service of humanity, and had seen less deserving 
men among his classmates, push forward to wide reputations 
and great financial rewards, whilst he remained in the same 
plodding path he entered on leaving the hospitals. He was 
not popular in the early days of his practice in the North, for 
he was a Virginian, and the people of his colder northern 
environment were rather slow to forget that he had once been 
a ‘rebel surgeon.’ He had seen his guiding star of duty in 
the care of the suffering ‘ boys in gray’ — how well he per- 
formed that duty, the stricken soldiers of the Confederate 
army of the Tennessee could testify. When popularity did 
come, it was not such as brings affluence, or even financial 
independence. He who had been reared in wealth and luxury, 
was doomed to be ‘ a poor man’s doctor ’ all his life. And he 
was indeed, a poor man’s doctor, for with him, fees were a 
secondary consideration. As with many others of Utopian 
ideas, our kind doctor’s generosity was more often abused 
than appreciated. The axiom that ‘ The gift horse is ridden 
to death,’ is nowhere more aptly illustrated than in the 
practice of medicine, and ever stands as a solemn protest 
against the doctor’s mixing too much sentiment with his 
daily work. 

“ Being a poor man’s doctor, is equivalent to being a poor 
man, and so my city doctor had little occasion for display. 
Satisfied was he, with a sound coat to cover his back — albeit 
’twas often threadbare — bread for his babies, and a clean 
slate at his butcher’s. And yet he was talented — indeed, he 
was the most philosophical physician I ever knew. But the 
rich did not appreciate his merit, and he was too busy with 
patients of less distinction, to thrust himself before people 
of greater social and financial importance. 

“ How often, in my student days, I have known the old 
man to rise of a cold, tempestuous midwinter’s night to face 
the icy storm, in behalf of some poor, sick woman or suffering 
child, whom he well knew would never be able to compensate 


98 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


him! Sometimes, I would say to him: ‘Doctor, the head of 
that family could pay you if he would; he drinks, and 
g*ambles his money away ! I wouldn’t g’o if I were you ! ’ And 
then the kind old doctor would shake his head reprovingly, 



THE STORMY PATH OF DUTY. 

and say, ‘William, my boy, never let the women and children 
suffer, even though the men are rascals! Be all the more 
ready to go, because you have an opportunity to redeem your 
sex — it needs it badly enough.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


99 


“And this practical lesson in philanthrophy came from 
the lips of an agnostic! 

“ When the lean and bloodless pharisee meets such a 
medical paradox upon the broad highway of life, he gathers 
his funereal garb more closely about him and — goes by upon 
the other side, as though in fear of the contagion of expansion 
of heart; while his more unctious brother pats himself upon 
his portly front in sublime self-satisfaction, and thinks of new 
schemes, whereby our Caesar may become more great. ” 

“Forty years of unremitting toil brought feebleness to 
my city doctor, yet he still followed the narrow path of 
professional duty he had marked out for himself in early life. 
Someone had said in his later years: ‘ It is not wise to trust 
the old doctor too far; the silvery crown of age does not 
always bring wisdom, nor does the feebleness of senility 
insure a keen eye, an unerring judgment or a steady hand. 
Do thou employ a younger and more learned physician.’ But 
his faithful patients replied: ‘ He has served us passing well; 
he has never abused our confidence, nor has he ever failed in 
the varied trusts and responsibilities we have put upon him. — 
He has succored our lives, and cared for our treasures — our 
children. — He has guarded our reputations! — These things 
do we value more than a knowledge of new theories, that are 
here to-day and there to-morrow; more than “the optic sharp 
I ween, that sees things that are not to be seen.” Bravely, 
faithfully and uncomplainingly, has he borne the woes of our 
children and the burdens of our wives; most steadfastly has 
he shielded the family skeleton from the gaze of a carping 
and cruel world — this is more to us than all the fads of 
modern imaginations!’ 

“He died in harness, did this dear old man, and almost 
to the very day of his death, he plodded about through the 
stormy days of our early spring weather, ministering to the 
wants of patients, none of whom were half so sick as was he 
himself. He finally succumbed — the pitcher had gone to the 
well for the last time! And when the end came, his brother 
physicians looked wise, and gave learned names to the rest 
that had come after forty years of constant and self-sacrificing 



100 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

labor for humanity’s sake. Surely his toil had been unselfish, 
for he received little reward in this world — and his material- 
istic philosophy held out no hope of recompense in the next! 
But who shall say that oblivion was not to him a fair reward 
— a well-earned rest? 


THE LITTLE CHILDREN SEEMED TO REACH OUT THEIR TINY, EAGER 
HANDS TO CALL THE OLD MAN BACK. 

“ Few indeed, were the silks and satins, in the little 
g-athering" that paid the last mournful tribute of respect to 
my city doctor. Men in threadbare suits, and women in rusty 
black, looked down upon the face of the g-ood and wise 
physician, and felt that their best friend had g-one — not to 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


101 


their heaven, perhaps, but, if he himself was rig-ht, to an 
immortality of another kind, free from fear of punishment or 
hope of reward. 

“Beside him wept the careworn mother, who once had 
heard the chime of the golden bells across the mystic sea — 
who had seen old Charon with his phantom bark, ready to 
waft her to the eternal shore — that was all too near — and had 
been saved to her loved ones by the helping hand of our city 
doctor. And who shall say he was, or was not, kind? And the 
little children, whose youthful trials in the battle of life he had 
helped to bear, seemed to reach out their tiny, eager hands, 
to call the old man back! To them he was a hero, of most 
colossal mould, whose fame and great deeds will ever be 
a sanctified and beautiful memory in the household! 

“ Good and wise old city doctor, friend of the poor, 
champion of the struggling young practitioner, kindest and 
wisest of preceptors — here’s to thy memory! Thy life was 
indeed an ideal that the many may not hope to attain, but 
which is even now, being exemplified by a devoted few, whose 
lives — whether ruled by the sublime faith of Christianity or 
by that universal milk of human kindness that knows no creed 
— are inspired, not only by the genius of medicine, but by a 
practical philanthropy which makes the profession of medi- 
cine the noblest under the sun! ” 


“And now I wish to pay my humble tribute to one whose 
prototype is ever with us — the country doctor: 

“I would speak both of the country doctor of the past — 
who farmed on fair days and practiced physic in the stormy 
intervals — and the progressive, intelligent country practi- 
tioner of to-da}^ There is a warm place in my heart, even for 
the farmer doctor of old time, for his heart was kind, and he 
often builded wiser and better than he knew — even though the 
hard yet golden grains of his practicality have become 
obscured by the innovations of modern days. I can forgive 
him his look of wise and patronizing importance when I, 
childlike, read the labels on his saddle-bag bottles and asked 
him what nux vomica was. With a shake of his wise and 
grizzly old head, and an expression that would have put old 


102 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


Diogenes himself to the blush, he replied: ‘Oh, nux vomicky 
is rat’s bane,andwe give it fer the stummick and in-tes-tines. 
Run away now, sonny, I must make some pills fer yer 
gran’ther.’ 

“Admitting that the old man’s classification was open 
to criticism, he knew the drug was ‘pizen stuff,’ and I think 
that even the most learned members of our profession must 
confess that the ancient pill-maker’s 
therapy was right — ‘nux vomicky’ 
is indeed very good ‘ fer the stum- 
mick and in-tes-tines.’ 

“When the pills were done and 
duly delivered to my grandfather, 
with instructions to take ‘one after 
each meal, ’ I wondered how on earth 
the old gentleman was going to find 
room for one of those enormous 
boluses, after eating a 
good old-fashioned New 
England dinner! Even 
he, weakened at the 
prospect after one 
day’s trial, so the pills 
were reverently laid 
away on the shelf 
among the other hric-a- 
hrac^ for future refer- 
ence. But I was inter- 
ested in those pills, and 
speedily filched them 
— for purposes best 
known to myself. I shall 
never forget my grandfather’s wrath 
the midst of a game of finger-billiards that I had extemporized 
with those marble-like monstrosities! And when one of his 
favorite hens got hold of one of the pills and foolishly 
attempted to swallow it, thereby converting herself into a 
caricature and ruffling her throat so that it looked like a 
lady's feather boa, the old gentleman rose in his might and 



A MISFIT. 

when he causfht me in 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


103 


smote me, hip and thig-h — or in that immediate vicinity! I 
distinctly recollect that I was in a condition of generalized 
hyperaesthesia for two weeks afterward! I didn’t call it 
‘hyperaesthesia’ then, but it had a staccato quality of hurt to 
it, that was a most efficacious corrective of all my tendencies 
to sedentary habits for some weeks. 

“ ‘ Granther’ was an economical man — he had paid the 
old doctor for those pills and did not propose to see them 
wasted — besides, he was fond of that blessed old ‘dominick’ 
hen. The old man was much like the old negress who had a 
sick son. Finding the boy putting on his trousers one morn- 
ing, she said: 

“ ‘ Yo', Ephum! whar’s yo’ gwine? ’ 

“ ‘I’se feelin’ bettah, mammy, an’ I’se gwine down town.’ 

“ ‘Oh! yo’ is, is yo’? Well, I ruddah guess not! Yo’ jes’ 
take off dem britches an’ go ter bed, an’ stay dar tell yo’ 
takes up dat dollah an’ er haf’s wuf er med’cin’, er I’ll stomp 
de libber outen yo’ — yo’ heah me shoutin’!’ — 

“From my description of the pills, you may at once infer 
that the hayseed doctor was a regular practitioner — and 
indeed he was. When a luckless homeopath ventured to 
locate in our little village, the old fellow surrounded himself 
with an ethical atmosphere as dense as a London fog. And 
his pills grew larger, and his decoctions viler, as if in very 
defiance of the whole breed of ‘ moonshine doctors and 
medical mugwumps!’ It was a great relief to the old man’s 
patients — those at least who survived — when the homeopath 
gave up the fight and went to preaching — the only practice, 
by the way, in which the two schools can ever perfectly agree. 

“ The old farmer doctor was a very pious old man, and, 
being a methodist, was an exhorter of no mean pretensions. 
He also had some very positive ideas regarding the behavior 
of boys on Sundays. One bright Sabbath morning the old 
man came down the road in his gig, and spied me by the 
roadside, spade in hand, arduously pursuing the study of 
helminthology — which in this instance meant the pursuit, 
rather than the science, of worms. He stopped his horse 
and began vigorously catechising me. I gave an account of 
my scientific investigations that might have satisfied the 



104 OVER THE HOOKAH. 


old doctor, had he not caug-ht a glimpse of a couple of fishing" 
poles, suspiciously projecting- above the stone wall by the 
roadside. On investig-ation, he found a chap with much 

nerve but less discretion — one 
Tom Baker— on the other end of 
the poles; this, in the old man’s 
mind, was sufficient evidence of 
nefarious purposes on my part. 


A TENDER MEMORY. 


for he well knew Tom’s aims and objects in life— or his lack 
of them. I ventured to expostulate with him, and mildly 
suggested that he made larg-e pills on Sunday, and why 
should I not dig worms, and kill the g-reat American g-ame 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


105 


fish — the white chub — down in the old sloug-h on the same 
day? And then he swore piously — as doctors do — and pro- 
ceeded to administer an arg-ument for Sunday closing-, that 
would have paralyzed even the Puritan fathers and made 
moral persuasion a work of supererogation. — 

“And such a superhuman knowledge of boy anatomy as 
that old doctor possessed! He was a specialist in that par- 
ticular direction. Such a clear understanding of peripheral 
sensory nerve filaments! It is, indeed, a tender memory! — 

“But when I was sick with the croup, that dear old man, 
crippled as he was with old age and as he expressed it, ‘ the 
rheumatiz,’ clambered painfully to the back of his old roan 
mare at one o’clock of a stormy morning, and despite the 
accentuation of equine bones — for he forgot his saddle — 
galloped over the rough and hilly New England roads to my 
rescue! What though my croup was, as he said, ‘not mem- 
bran-e-ous?’ — relief was what I yearned for, and relief 
in ‘allopathic ’ doses, not technicalities, was what I got. 

“And so my lines were cast in pleasant places, and I 
grew up under the protecting wing of ‘ regular medicine ’ — 
my childish conception of which, was a pious old gentleman, 
with a positive affinity for blue laws, a predilection for large 
pills and nauseating draughts, a heart as big as that of an ox 
— and a hitting power equal to Sullivan’s. 

“ Yet the country doctor has evolved, not only as a class, 
but he has differentiated from his strong individuality, a 
McDowell, a Sims, a Battey — of cherished memory — and a 
host of other men, richly endowed by nature, who from small 
and lowly beginnings have risen to the highest places among 
the elect. 

“It is in America that the prototype of the country 
doctor is seen at his best. Strong, cool-headed, self-reliant 
and patient, he stands out in bold relief against the leaden 
sky of modern commercial medicine. Progressive as far as 
his opportunities will permit, his brain and experience are 
the crucible in which medical innovations are tried. He is 
the governor of the professional engine, which, with the 
average extremist at the lever, would carry us on to a 
therapeutical optimism that sooner or later would wreck us 


106 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


by its downfall and the substitution of its natural enemy — 
nihilism. His lancet is laid away, and aconite, veratrum 
viride and the modern coal tar preparations have usurped its. 
throne — so much the worse, perhaps, for the throne. The 
inquisitorial turnkey has been lost in the cow pond by the 
children, and he now pulls refractory g-rinders with the 
modern nickel-plated forceps. 

“ He has seen the discoveries of Jenner, Lister, Pasteur, 
Koch, and many others, illumine the professional horizon and 
revolutionize medicine and surg-ery. He has witnessed the 
development of abdominal surg-ery, that has made such men 
as Tait, Wells, and in our own country. Price, Kelly and 
many others, brig-ht particular stars in their chosen pro- 
fession. So many things has he seen and tried in the crucible 
of his daily experience, that volumes would be necessary to 
describe his varied observations. Verily, the country doctor 
has been the judg-e before whom many thing's have been tried 
in the balance, and alas ! — often found wanting-. 

“And medicine is not all he knows! He is the Nestor of 
the little hamlet where he lives. He even rivals the preacher 
and the postmaster, in his fund of knowledg-e. The villag-e 
‘squire,’ never pretended to compete with him. Relig-ion, 
politics, and ag-riculture — he knows them all! To him, are 
all momentous questions — social, scientific and theolog-ical — 
referred for decision — and none shall say he is not a just and 
righteous, albeit often a most stubborn, self-willed judg-e. 

“When the lyceum days of midwinter arrive, it is our 
country doctor who debates with the village school-master 
and the parson of the little white church. He it is who 
downs ’em all at the ‘ spelling bees.’ 

“When the boys find queer herbs or odd-looking bones, 
in their strolls through the. woods and fields, it is to the old 
doctor that they go for their classification. What though he 
does sometimes classify the skull of the defunct Mephitis 
Afnericana as one of the family felidce — he is not supposed to 
be curator to the Smithsonian Institute. Besides, if a black 
cat is one of the felidce why not a polecat ? 

“But our country doctor completely fills the sphere in 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


107 


which he lives, and more ; his skill and practical wisdom, 
leaven the entire medical loaf. 

“ It is to the country that we g-o for our blood, and brawn, 
and muscle and sinew — verily, to the country also go we, for 
a fresh supply of level and virile brains. The country 
practitioner is the man of resources — he is the man of deeds. 

“ Long life to thee, O cross-roads oracle! May the kindly 
light of thy bluff and cheery good nature never fail! May all 
generations to come,meet thee on the rugged road or smooth- 
rolled pike, with a hearty welcome and a keen appreciation 
of thy always well-meant and ever skillful service! May the 
cheery picture of thy weather-beaten, wholesome and honest 
face, and bright and kindly eye, peer out from thy rickety 
and mud-bespattered gig, for ages to come; and may Nancy 
Hanks ne’er be in it with thine old gray mare, who hath ever 
been the fastest rack o’ bones all along the road! Thy 
leathern chest contains hope, good cheer, and safety for many 
a household, and the whisky that thou givest for colds needs 
no rock, for it is the best that ‘Ole Kaintucky ’ e’er produced. 

“Who ever knew the country doctor to falter in his path 
of duty? His city brother — at least he of the opulent and 
profitable specialty — may well lie in his downy couch, all 
unmoved by the savage onslaught of the chill, remorseless 
wind and pitiless sleet. But our country doctor, as he lies 
down to sleep, and hears the petulant fusillade of rain or hail 
on roof and window pane, knows full well that it is apt to be 
dismal music for him, ere morning dawns. But he sleeps 
none the less sweetly, and responds to the call of suffering 
humanity none the less promptly, though he knows that the 
purling brook that crosses the broad highway between him 
and his patient— who, perhaps, is many miles away— is now a 
turbulent torrent. Even though the messenger tells him 
that the rickety bridge is swept away, he does not hesitate, 
for, to him, this means only the saddle and a swim, instead of 
his storm-sheltering gig — a road over which a messenger can 
pass, or even a crow can fly, has no obstacles for that moral 
Hercules, the doctor of the cross-roads. And time is no 
object; he not only goes promptly, but he stays until another 
soul has been launched upon the turbulent ocean of life, or. 


108 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


mayhap, until the grim boatman has called for yet another 
passeng-er for the g-reat unknown, and he knows that his 





TO THE RESCUE. 

“And so, throng’ll storm and sunshine, year in and year 
out, the dear old country doctor plods along-, living and learn- 
ing, living and letting live, ushering in sunbeams and cheering 



OVER THE HOOKAH. 


109 


despair, pulling- teeth and lancing- g-ums, advising- the young- 
and consoling- the old, until his own earthly span has been run 
and he falls — in harness. And, when the rest he has so well 
earned comes to our country doctor, may he g-o to a land 
where a bushel of oats or a bag- of potatoes is not a fee- 
equivalent for a ten-mile drive. Who is there among- us, that 
can so well fulfill the axiom of that g-ood old philosopher, 
Epictetus, who, in his Encheiridion has said: ‘Remember 
that thou art but an actor in a play, of such a sort as the 
author may choose; if short, of a short one; if long-, of a long- 
one. If thy part be that of a poor man, of- a rich man, or of 
a mag-istrate, see to it that you act the part naturally. For 
this is your duty, to act well the part that is g-iven you?’ 
Here was the source of one of the immortal Shakespeare’s 
g’randest inspirations; it surely beseems my hero — the 
country doctor! 

“Someone — I don’t know who, or I would thank him for 
the sentiment — has described the old family doctor of the 
cross roads in a style as quaint as it is beautiful — 

‘ When I git to musin’ deeply, 

'Bout them times what used to be, 

An’ the s wellin’ tide o’ memory. 

Comes a sweepin over me. 

Then, ’mong the wrecks of long ago. 

That’s driftin’ on the crags, 

I can vsee our fam’ly doctor 
With his leather saddle bags. 

With his crown so bare and shiny, 

An’ his whiskers, white as snow. 

With his nose jest like a piney. 

That’s beginnin’ fer to blow, 

Fer he painted it with somethin’, 

Frum his bottles er his kags. 

That he alius carried with him, 

In them rusty saddle bags. 

When the whoopin’ cough was ragin’ 

Er the measles wuz aroun’ 

He’d mount his rhubarb pony. 

An’ go scootin’ out o’ town. 

With his saddle skirts a floppin’. 

An’ his leggin’s all in rags, 

An’ the roots an’ yarbs a stuffin’ 

Out his pussy saddle bags. 


no 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


Then, when mam wuz down with fever, 

An’ we thoug-ht that she would die. 

That ole feller didn’t leave her. 

An’ he never shut an eye ; 

But he sot thar like a pilot, 

Fer to keep her f rum the snag’s. 

An’ he broug-ht her throug-h the riffle 
With his rusty saddle bag's. 

I can see him with his glasses. 

Sot a-straddle of his nose. 

With his broad-brimmed loppy beaver, 

An’ his loose, old fashioned cloze; 

I can see him tyin’ at the gate 
The laziest o’ nags, 

An’ come puffin’ up the pathway 
With his heavy saddle bags. 

But he started on his travels 
Many, many 3’^ears ago, 

Fer the place where life onravels 
An’ dividin’ waters flow. 

So I hope he’s reached the haven 
Where no anchor ever drags, 

An’ has landed safe in heaven 
With his shinin’ saddle bags,’ 

“Ah! my boy; the man who wrote that, well knew his 
family doctor — and what is more, he appreciated him. 
What he has so beautifully said of his own family physician, 
fits many another hard-working*, old-fashioned country prac- 
titioner. 

“It is to be regretted however, that the author of those 
eulogistic lines, should have marred their beauty by an 
uncharitable and fallacious interpretation of the ruddy bloom 
upon the old doctor’s nose. How else but ruddy, should a 
man’s nose look, after some decades of hard country riding, 
up hill and down dale, in weather which has little respect for 
one’s finer feelings — and no respect whatever for his nose? 
Why — the ‘piney’ hue of the old veteran’s nose was the red 
ribbon of our legion of honor! And if he chose to wear it 
there, instead of in his button hole — well, whose affair was it?” 


“And now that we have finished our little gossip about 
doctors, a final word to you, my boy: 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


Ill 


“ Epictetus formulated a maxim through which the lay- 
man should stick a pin and post in the most conspicuous place 
under his vine and fig tree: ‘Select for both thy physician 
and thy friend, not the most agreeable but the most useful.’ 
“ It is not always the man who shines with most effulgence 
in society, nor is it necessarily the man who prays the 
loudest, who is the most useful physician. 

“To you — a coming doctor — I would say, do not try to 
stick too closely to the ideal, but remember that a proper 
appreciation of one’s own commercial value, does not neces- 
sarily interfere with a healthy sentiment of philanthropy. 

“It is no disgrace to die poor, nor does it matter much 
perhaps, to the doctor himself; there is little consolation to 
his family, however, in the fact that his life was one of philan- 
thropy — for all but those who were most entitled to his 
consideration. Sentiment for the dead man is apt to be 
tempered by the bitterness of hunger — or what is worse, the 
embarrassment of shabby gentility! Only too often is the 
fulsome obituary of the departed doctor supplemented by 
the advertisement that his library and instruments are on 
sale — for the purpose of defraying the funeral expenses. 

“To the poor, therefore, give much; from the rich, take 
more. Remember that the man of affluence has no claim 
upon you, other than that he should expect your best skill, at 
the highest prices. Let him pay a part of the poor man’s 
tax! 

“ If you go to church, go there for the benefit of your soul, 
and not your pocket. On that final day of reckoning, in which 
the pharisee professes to believe, St. Peter can see through 
the veneer of sham piety, and, if you be not careful, you 
are apt to be put on the top shelf among the back numbers. 
He’s a queer old chap, and may take a notion to melt the 
veneer off you — his colleague, the devil, will be glad to lend a 
hand! A long funeral procession will not save you — your 
friends may be much like a certain Irishman, who was seen 
by a countryman of his, riding along in one of the carriages 
of a grand funeral pageant: Says Mike, on the walk, to 
Paddy, in the carriage— ‘ Who’s in the hearse, beyant?’ 


112 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


‘Faith, an’ I dunno,’ replied the quondam aristocrat in the 
carriagfe, ‘Oim in it fer the roide!’ 

“Don’t be a ’dock-weed’ — for a full head at nig-ht is apt 
to result in an empty head, and a still emptier pocket, next 
day! Do not affect too much dig-nity, for this useful attribute 
may be overdone! — I have known doctors who were so over- 
powered with this commodity that their faces ached. I have 
in mind at the present moment, several g*entlemen whose 
smiles not only have the same effect upon me as an icicle 
surreptitiously put down my back, but they excite my suspi- 
cions — and I am naturally of a confiding- disposition. Ug-h! 
such smiles give me the qualms! 

“As Bill Nye tersely, if inelegantly, put it, ‘ Don’t be a 
clam!’ Don’t be afraid to laugh at a good joke, nor to tell it 
again if you can do it half-way decently. It may help your 
liver, de-congest your spleen — and indirectly, benefit your 
patients. 

“Well, my boy, I see that our lady guest is getting 
fatigued. She has never been a member of an owl club, 
and is not inured to such late hours and long stories as 
characterize our seances. I believe, madam, that you have 
not heard me talk so continuously since — well, since our 
courting days. You see, young man, doctors don’t have 
much chance to become acquainted with their wives. Then, 
too, I don’t know as Mrs. Weymouth would permit me to tell 
long stories anywhere but in my library; she does let me do 
about as I like on this side of the library door. But it’s 
different in the rest of the house, eh, my dear? 

“ Good night, sir, and pleasant dreams to you! 



THE DOCTOR EMULATES SANDOW, 



HEN sombre thoughts assail 
thy mind, 

Or chilling woes depress 
thine heart j 

ril tell thee where, alone, 
thourt find 

A fairy, who with magic 
art. 

Will clear thy mental 
clouds away 

And all thy pangs of grief 
allay, 



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“QUITE TRILBYESQUE, 


EH? ” 










THE DOCTOR EMULATES SANDOW, 



ELL, you’ve come at last, 
have you? I had almost 
concluded you had forg-otten 
me entirely. Youngsters are 
prone to selfishness, and it 
would be perfectly natural for you 
to forget that I have got to the point 
where I cannot enjoy life without 
occasionally indulging in the mild dissipation 
of a little gossip. I don’t wonder the women folks like their 
afternoon teas and sewing circles. I used to be content with 
strict attention to work-a-day affairs, but, as I grow older, I 
must either indulge my garrulous propensities or be mis- 
erable. 

“Ah! my dear fellow! — I shall be lonesome after you 
graduate. 

“Another student? 

“Of course, but you don’t seem to realize how difficult it 
is to train a good listener. It is an art that I myself have 
just begun to understand. You must remember that 
garrulity ‘loves a shining mark.’ I suppose the secret of 
the whole matter is that, as Disraeli said of Gladstone, I 
am ‘intoxicated with the exuberance of my own verbosity.’ 
I have found you a most indulgent auditor, and I fear that a 
new student might not be so self-sacrificing as yourself. 

“I suppose you were surprised that I did not rise and 
greet you as usual. Well, I just couldn’t, that’s all! Every- 
thing is awry with me to-night — the world’s turned upside 


118 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


down! My wife is away visiting her mother — and the cook 
is even crankier than I am ! Drat these mothers-in-law ! 
They’re always coming to visit a fellow or getting his wife 
off to see them! A bad steak, cold coffee, and afterward my 
hookah refusing to draw! And just look at my foot — four- 
teen yards of flannel and ten pounds of absorbent wool about 
it, if there’s a yard or a pound! Smell the arnica, turpentine, 
camphor, chloroform and things! — Can’t smell ’em all at 
once, eh? Then you’re not fit for the practice of medicine. 
Learn to be ?i coftnoisseur of smells, my boy — you’ll need to be 
a past-master of olfactory expertness, if you would succeed in 
your profession. Pah ! How I hate odorous complexities, 
anyhow! I like your good, old-fashioned assafoetida or iodo- 
form straight. No foolishness about them ! You always know 
just where to find ’em. There’s valerian, too — another good 
old reliable smell. Get up any sort of an ‘ate’ you please, 
and if valerian is there, she’s there, and that’s all there is to 
it. Why, that drug is as faithful as a dog — especially one 
that has been deceased for a few days. 

“Why is it that we doctors are such old women when 
we’re sick? Just look at that foot again! Has a coddled 
appearance hasn’t it? That’s just what’s the matter; I have 
coddled it and my wife has breathed sighs of sympathy over 
it, until I really think it quite interesting. Quite Trilby esque, 
eh? There never was a poor old ‘ widdy ’ woman’s son had 
such an elaborate dressing on a lame foot. 

“ By Jove ! That dry goods store comes off that foot and 
I get out of this to-morrow, if I have to put on a plaster cast 
and take to crutches! Would you believe it? I’ve been 
confined to the house since day before yesterday! Day 
— before — yesterday, mind you! 

“Gout? 

“ Now, look here, young man, you mustn’t talk that way! 
You know well enough that I have never been afflicted with 
anything of the kind — neither am I in the slightest danger of 
it! Lithaemic, you say? Y-yes, but not to that extent, besides, 
I am too fond of plain living to run any risk of developing a 
swollen big toe. Oh yes, I know; rare beefsteaks and a 
very little punch might be formidable, but those steaks are 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


119 


not so very larg'e, and that punch is as mild-mannered as 
g-oat’s milk with the ‘ mountain dew ’ left out. No, I’ve never 
a touch of the gout, but if you’ll stop grinning so sarcastically 
for a few moments, I’ll tell you what really is the matter with 
this blessed — ouch ! — foot.” 


“ You may have noticed recently, that I have been getting 
a trifle ‘ waisty. ’ My adipose tissue has been steadily gaining 
on my lungs until I began to believe they were undergoing 
fatty degeneration. My diaphragm has had a steady 
quarrel on with my liver and other fixings of my department 
of internal revenue, for some months. I have bewailed my 
fate and quarreled with my adipose destiny in vain. I might 
have put up with it, had not my wife remarked sarcastically, 
that she hoped the fat would not ‘get into’ my ‘brain.’ 
Emhonfomt cerehrale! Oh, horrible! horrible! — I then 
made up my mind that something must be done, and on 
reflection, decided that I must do it myself. 

“Now, I suppose you think it a very easy matter for a 
physician to reduce his flesh; he advises his patients in the 
matter of diet, so glibly that one might think he would 
delight in following his own prescriptions — but he most 
emphatically does not. Prescriptions and learned opinions 
were made for patients, but never for doctors themselves. 
As I have often remarked, physicians are like guide-posts — 
their business is to stand at some conspicuous corner on the 
road of life and point out the way to the weary and ignorant 
traveler — but go themselves? Never! They are too benev- 
olent and self-sacrificing to do anything of the kind. Besides, 
if they did follow the road they point out to others, the poor 
travelers who come after them might lose their way. No; 
we must have our doctors right where we can find them when 
wanted. 

“I will, however, confess another reason why it was 
difficult to follow the advice I am accustomed to give to others; 
I am rather fond of a good dinner — plain food, you know, 
and plenty of it. You can readily appreciate the quandary I 
was in. 

“I presume it would have been an act of simple fraternal 


120 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


courtesy to have consulted another doctor, but there were 
serious objections to that. Doctors know so much about 
each other’s methods that the element of mystery is g-one 
— and with it gfoes our confidence. What’s the use in asking- 
a professional brother to tell you something- you already 
know? He sympathizes with you, it is true, but deep down 
in the murky depths of that portion of his eg-o that he terms 
his soul, he sets you down as an ass — and he rarely errs in 
his diagnosis. 

“I was of course somewhat diffident about confiding my 
troubles to any one, but it so happened that one of my old 
friends — whom we will call ‘ Jule,’ for short, and who chances 
to be a lawyer by profession — had been observing for some 
time, the decidedly aldermanic proportions I was acquiring. 
He finally, in a facetious manner, called attention to my 
lack of symmetry — thus giving me the opportunity of 
discussing the matter with freedom, and incidentally asking 
his advice. I warned him in advance, that I would not under 
any circumstances ride a bicycle. I took it for granted that 
he would suggest one of those infernal machines. 

“‘I am no bicycle crank,’ said he, ‘and if I were, I 
wouldn’t recommend one to you, for to be frank, I don’t think 
you are built that way. The bicycle has a hard row to hoe 
as it is; the bloomerites are bad enough, and I don’t think 
the spectacle you would present, would tend to popularize the 
machine,’ and then he laughed — confound him! 

“Jule saw that I was hurt, indeed, words failed me — you 
may imagine how hard I was hit. I could only glare at him as 
indignantly and reproachfully as the situation appeared to 
demand. 

“Observing the ‘A/ tu Brute'' effect of his rather pointed 
remarks, he said, pacifically: ‘Now, see here, old man, 
you know you are not an Adonis, and you ought to take a 
little joke upon your personal appearance without getting 
provoked about it’. 

“‘That’s all well enough’, I replied; ‘no doubt you were 
joking, but your jokes remind me of the Irishman’s repartee: 

“‘Two Irishmen were reading their respective news- 
papers one day, when one of them turned to the other and 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 121 

said: “Say, Moike, Oive found a wurrud here that Oi don’t 
understhand.” 

‘ “Sure, an’ pfwat’s the wurrud, Pat? Shpell it out for me.” 

‘ “ Well, here it is, Moike — r-e-p-a-r-t-e-e. ” 

‘ “Sure, Pat, an’ that’s Frinch; that’s ree-par-tay ! ” 

‘ “An’pfwat the divil’s that, Moike?” 

‘ “Well, ye see, Pat, that’s whin a feller sez somethin’ to 
ye that yez don’t loike an’ yez g-it roig-ht back at ’im; Oi’m sur- 
proised at yer ig-nerance, Pat!” 

“‘A few days later, Pat asked his friend for a chew of 
tobacco: 

‘ “ Divil a bit’ll ye g-it, Pat Murphy, Oi’ve but a wee bit 
fermesilf!” 

“ ‘With this, Pat picked up a half-brick and applied it to 
the portion of Mike’s cranium where it seemed likely to do 
the most g-ood. 

“ ‘ When Mike came to, he said: 

‘ “ Howly Moses, Pat ! pfwat the divil did yez hit me loike 
that fer ?” 

‘“Whist, ye ig-nerant .shpalpeen,” said Pat; “that’s 
ree-par-tay.” 

“ ‘ Oh well,’ said Jule, ‘I suppose I am a little blunt, but 
you oug-ht to be used to me by this time. However, I’ll over- 
look your sensitiveness just once more, and if you will be 
patient long- enoug-h. I’ll try and sug-g-est something* that 
may be of practical benefit to you. 

“‘I have been thinking* for some time, doctor, that you 
oug*ht to take more exercise. I have been practicing* what I 
am now preaching* to you, for several weeks. I remember 
that when you were young*er, you were quite an athlete. We 
used to have some very pleasant times tog*ether in our old 
training* days, and I see no reason why we should not take it 
up ag*ain. To be sure, the methods of training* have chang*ed 
somewhat since our time, but I find that I am adapting* myself 
to the new system of athletics quite rapidly. Just feel my 
biceps, old man! Isn’t that g*ood, for less than a month’s work?’ 

“I was forced to admit that it was an excellent muscle — 
it is best to humor Jule at all times, and especially when he’s 
in condition. 


122 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ How did you accomplish so much in so short a time ?’ 
I asked ! 

“ ‘ Why,’ he replied; ‘I’ve been practicing- a la Sandow. — 
You have heard of him of course?’ 

“I admitted that I had, but frankly confessed that I knew 
nothing- of his system. I stated, however, that I should be 
g-lad to learn something- about it. 

“‘Nothing- could be easier,’ said Jule. ‘I am well ac- 
quainted with him, and if you will take in his show with me 
to-nig-ht I’ll introduce you after the performance is over.’ 

“The plan met with my approval, especially as I had no 
objections to a nig-ht off, and knew that Jule was an excellent 
companion. 

“Well, we went to the show, and I must say that I was 
greatly entertained by the modern Samson’s exhibition of 
gladiatorial idiocy. I was especially edified by the manner 
in which he held up a number of men on a huge plank placed 
upon his chest. It subsequently struck me, though, that the 
feat was, after all, quite ordinary — as I remarked to Jule, we 
have a number of gentlemen here in the city who are quite 
successful in holding up people, although they are too modest 
to give public exhibitions. 

“Sandow also supported several horses upon his chest in 
a manner that elicited great applause. I could not help 
wishing, however, that he had had the opportunity of sup- 
porting an old gray mare I used to own. I know that old 
nag had a nest of tape worms — I tried to support her for 
several years, but finally gave it up in despair. I think even 
Sandow would have weakened. 

“But the gladiator’s specialty seemed to be living 
pictures. As I looked at the wonderful display of muscle 
exhibited in his various attempts at artistic posing, the fire 
of gladiatorial ambition entered my soul and — I felt an ardent 
desire to emulate Sandow. I told Jule as much, in such 
untechnical terms as I happened to have about me, but he 
only growled at me and told me that I made him ‘tired.’ I 
don’t know why he was so surly — I had certainly so simpli- 
fied my language that there was nothing fatiguing about it. 

I suppose that he was irritated because I had interrupted a 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


123 


trance into which he had been thrown by a shapely come- 
dienne who happened to be in airy, voluptuous evidence when 
I spoke to him. You see, my friend Jule is dreadfully bald 
— that in itself is quite suspicious. 

“After the performance was over, I was introduced to 
Sandow, who kindly told me all about his wonderful chest 
expansion and enormous muscular measurements. Like all 



THE LIMIT OF A DOCTOR’S ASSURANCE. 


a faint suspicion that his measurements were as expansive as 
his breathing- apparatus, but being- out of condition myself and 
Sandow being-, as I remarked, quite sensitive, I refrained. 

“ Sandow was very courteous and explained his system 
of training- quite fully. His ideas were decidedly novel to me. 


124 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


He assured me that no special dietetic measures were neces- 
sary to his method — he had himself partaken of a champag^ne 
dinner just before the evening’s performance, and had also 
smoked several cigars. 

“ ‘ When I get through with my work,’ he said, ‘I always 
take a bath in ice-cold water.’ He then proceeded to give us 
a practical illustration of this feature of his training. 

“This concluded our interview — a newspaper reporter 
might pursue a victim beyond his bath, but a self-respecting 
doctor must draw the line somewhere. 

“On the way home, Jule forgot the pretty sotihrette and 
condescended to talk to me again. 

“‘What do you think of Sandow’s method?’ he asked, 

‘ is it not wonderful in its results? ’ 

“ ‘ Well, ’I replied, ‘his system of exercise is quite rational, 
and leads me to believe that physical training is not so 
severe an ordeal as it used to be when we were young. Don’t 
you think, however, that the cold bath might be omitted with 
advantage ? ’ 

“ ‘ Oh yes,’ r'eplied Jule sarcastically, ‘leaving merely the 
champagne and cigars.’ 

“ I saw that I was likely to become irritated if I kept on — 
Jule is quite aggravating at times — so I dropped that particu- 
lar section of the subject. 

“Before bidding me good-night, Jule made an appoint- 
ment with me for the next morning at the gymnasium he 
attended, and being now possessed of a single ambition — 
to become a Sandow— I not only kept the appointment but 
was on hand long before the appointed time. 

“By the way, my boy, that ‘early bird’ business is a 
fraud, or else I was the early worm and not the bird on this 
occasion. I know what /caught at all events — and it was not a 
worm, as the sequel will show — indeed I wish it had been a 
worm. It is possible that I did catch one, though — a boa 
constrictor, for example. 

“ ‘The first thing for you to do,’ said my mentor, ‘is to 
worry off some of that fat’ — and by way of illustration, Jule 
grabbed a handful of my waist and pinched it until I threat- 
ened to shoot him. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 125 

“ ‘ The best way to begin is to take some kind of exer- 
cise which necessitates quick movements.’ 

“I fancied he was becoming satirical again, and was 
alluding to my tendency to physical inertia, but merely said 
that I thought so, too. 

“ ‘Now,’ said Jule, ‘there’s boxing, for example; there’s 
no exercise superior to it for worrying off fat. I’ll introduce 
you to the professor in charge of that department. He has 
a private room, you know, and you will have no occasion for 
embarrassment in taking your lessons. While you are having 
your first seance with the professor. I’ll do a turn or two 
about the gymnasium.’ ” 


“ The ‘ professor ’ seemed very glad to see me — if the 
energy and warmth of his handshake were to be taken in 
evidence. He had a peculiar manner of shaking hands ; using 
both his own, and ostentatiously grabbing as many of mine 
as happened to be within easy reach. I did not lose any of 
my fingers, but they felt as though I had been dallying with 
a sausage machine. Later on, I discovered that this peculiar 
method of hand-shaking was a relic of the ancient Greek 
games. It seems that it was the custom of the gladiators to 
extend both hands to each other, in order to show that they 
held no weapon. The fashion is not jin de silcle^ for my 
experience proves that the modern Greek doesn’t need a 
weapon — his hands are enough. It would be more consistent 
to keep his hands busy by giving him a club in one hand and 
a pair of brass knuckles in the other — it would also be more 
humane to the party of the second part. 

“ There was one thing that was thoroughly demonstrated 
to me by my observations of my new instructor in deportment 
and Delsarte, which was, that a liberal education is never 
thrown away. No matter what role Mr. O ’Donovan might 
have been called upon to play in the drama of life, he would 
have made an impression. I did not ask him for his auto- 
biography on so short an acquaintance — nobody but an ass 
or a bunko-steerer would have done such a thing, and nobody 
but a bunko-steerer, a novelist, or a dramatist, ever takes 
advantage of the history thus elicited, even when the other 


126 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


fellow is idiot enoug-h to tell it. It’s all very well for the old 
‘has been’ in the play, to tell the story of his past life— every 
stag-e character must have a past, althoug-h, come to think of 
I it, the stage ladies seem to need it most — but the fellow who 

! plays the same character in real life, rarely does so, save for 

revenue only. 

“ ‘ Professor’ O’Donovan is truly a versatile genius. — I do 
wish I could speak of him in the past tense, but he still lives, 
and what is worse, I may never have the opportunity of pre- 
scribing for him. I am willing to wager that he makes a 
j decided hit in any position in which he may chance to be 

' placed. I wish I could describe in detail, all the striking 

characteristics of the man, but I regret to say that my 
I memory serves me only up to a certain point, beyond which 

i it is not to be relied upon. 

jj “ O’Donovan presents many admirable points — qualities 

|i in fact, which tend decidedly in the direction of self-develop- 

ment and the formation of a strong character. He is more 
ji; fertile in expedients than any man I ever knew. Possessed of 

ij an exceptional degree of ambidexterity, the professor can do 

'! more with his hands, than most men can with the most ela- 

borate tools. Emergencies that would compel other men to 
j use a multiplicity of implements, are met by this wonderful 

j man with no other tools than those with which nature provi- 

|| ded him. I have not the slightest doubt of his ability to per- 

form with his hands alone, feats for the accomplishment of 

i '' which the ordinary man would require an elaborate array of 

instruments — such for example as a slung shot, or an ax, or a 
gun, or a baseball bat. Whenever! look at myself in the glass? 
and think of my surgical instruments, I blush for very shame. 
“ I might remark in passing, that the professor’s method 
|'!| of physical culture is superior in its technique, to anything 

ji;! I have ever seen or even read of. There are few systems 

that compare with it. Indeed, I doubt whether there was 
j ever a railroad riot, or a game of foot ball, or a saloon row, or 

! a circular saw, that could compete with it in point of multi- 

!i| plicity, variety and punctuation of results. His technique 

;|| reminds me of that of one of my friends who poses as a sur- 

i , geon : 


L 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


127 


“A certain g-entleman, Dr. J , on being- asked if he had 

ever seen Dr. X perform an operation, replied that he had: 

“ ‘ And what do you think of his work ? ’ 

“‘Well,’ said J , ‘It reminds me very forcibly of a 

railroad accident!’ 

“In addition to his other admirable qualities the pro- 
fessor is a clever financier — so clever, indeed, that I question 
whether he has not mistaken his calling-. He should have 
been a surg-eon, for he has sense enoug-h to collect the fees 
for his operations before he puts his patients to sleep. In 
O’Donovan’s case I must say that the precaution is especially 
wise, for he is inclined to push his anaesthetic a little too far, 
and I suspect that some of his subjects have forg-otten to 
wake up — he is so careless, and inclined to throw his weig-ht 
upon his patient’s body in such a manner as to seriously 
impede respiration; which, as you well know, is quite dang-er- 
ous — to the patient. 

“But I must say in all justice to the professor, that he 
g-ives a receipt in full for all fees received. To be sure, the 
receipt does not comprise an accident policy, but it is very 
valuable as a means of identification of the corpse, and that’s 
something-. I admit that the professor’s writing- is not as 
plain as some of his other handiwork, but his sig-nature is 
unmistakable and shows evidence of real g-enius. Indeed, 
it strong-ly resembles the autog-raphs of Shakespeare, and 
some other celebrities who have made their mark. 

“But it was the professor’s lang-uag-e that struck me 
most forcibly — at first. O’Donovan evidently aims to be in 
fashion and is certainly up to date — his conversation plainly 
shows that, contrary to the popular belief, ’twas really he 
who wrote ‘Chimmie Fadden.’ How that man Townsend 
could ever muster up cheek enoug-h to plag-iarize that classical 
production, I cannot understand. He certainly did not know 
O’Donovan as well as I do, or he never would have done it. 
My advice to Townsend is, to square the matter as soon as 
possible — preferably before the professor hears about it. 
Should he wait until O’Donovan catches him, he had best 
submit the matter to a board of arbitration. I might remark, 
en passant, that I am not looking for office myself— besides, I’m 


128 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

not ‘English, you know,’ and might not be a brilliant success 
as an arbitrator. 

“After the preliminary how-do-you-do hand -shake 
that I have described. Professor O’Donovan suggested that I 
‘Strip ter de buff. See?’ I complied, after learning that he 
desired me to become a forbidden picture — from the waist 
up. 

“ Having adopted full dress for the occasion, my toilet 
was of course incomplete without gloves, and I suggested as 
much to the professor, who replied: 

“ ‘Dat’s what, cully, ’n here’s de mitts!’ 

“ He now brought out a couple of pairs of emphysematous- 
looking affairs resembling a collection of ‘pizened pups,’ that 
had evidently once been intended to represent boxing gloves. 
They were originally white, I presume, but they had lost 
their pristine color and assumed a hue and flavor quite 
suggestive of a front door mat. 

“The professor handed me a pair of the leathery mon- 
strosities and instructed me to put them on. As I complied, 
I noticed that the upholstering in the gloves was thin in some 
spots and rather bunchy in others. The thumb of one of 
them was apparently affected with a bad case of spavin — or 
was it ‘spar-vin?’ The leathery part of the things was covered 
with a varnish-like glaze that I had no opportunity to analyze 
minutely, but which upon gross inspection appeared to be 
composed of an admixture of sebum, sweat and nasal mucus, 
with here and there a dark spot that I did not quite com- 
prehend — until later. 

“As I looked at those gloves I wondered if the other pair 
was just like mine and — held my breath. 

“Meanwhile, the professor again shook hands with me. — 
So thoughtful of him to bid me farewell in such a touching 
manner, was it not? 

“ ‘ Now,’ said he, ‘ Yer want ter take er persition jes’ like 
dis. Savvy?’ With these words, O’Donovan put himself in a 
most terrifying attitude and proceeded to dance around me 
in a way that set my head spinning ! 

“‘Why,’ said I, ‘that’s not the way we boxed when 
I was a boy. We used to put our left feet together and do 



OVER THE HOOKAH. 129 

our boxing- across a bar, that was held between us by a 
couple of comrades.’ 

“ The look of disgust on the professor’s face should have 
warned me of impending trouble— but it didn’t. 

“ ‘See here, cully, who’s er doin’ dis ere teachin? D’ye 
s’pose I’m a goin’ ter take enny sich slack from er pupil, hey? 
De rules of dis ere gymnasium don’t ’low no bar round here. 


“YER WANT TER TAKE ER PERSITION JES’ LIKE DIS; SAVVY?” 

See ? Ye’d better stan’ up an’ learn de bizness — den yer kin 
talk. Ketch on ? Put up yer dukes now, ’n shut yer trap ! ’ 
“I was getting mad by this time, in fact, I was mad, but 
I flatter myself that I can maintain my dignity and self- 
respect under any and all circumstances — however trying. 
I glanced at the professor’s ponderous ‘ drive ’ muscles, and 
determined that nothing he could do or say, should cause me 
to forget that he was but a base hireling — a mere slave, at 


130 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


$10.00 the dozen lessons — strictly in advance. And so I held 
i my peace, as a gentleman should. 

“ The lesson now proceeded, and the professor drilled 
I me thoroughly in the various maneuvers of his little parlor 

game. Having concluded the purely technical details and 
demonstrated to my entire satisfaction, that he was but a toy 
in my brawny hands, O’Donovan flattered me by saying I 
was very ‘clever wid de dukes, ’n ’specially de left,’ and 
remarked that we would ‘ wind up wid a set-to, ’ and ‘ don’t y er 
be afraid ter mix wid me ! See ?’ 

“Well, I didn’t exactly see, but in spite of his somewhat 
unsavory appearance I proceeded to exemplify my interpre- 
I tation of the term ‘ mix ’, and then — I saw ! 

i “ The professor had an aggravating trick of holding his 

I left arm out in such a position that I was compelled to run into 

! its extremity — my nasal end first — every time I made a move, 

i “After dallying with me for a while, and clearly demon- 

i strating the source of those dark spots on the gloves, the 

professor suddenly hit me a three-hundred-pound whack in 
the pit of my stomach — I would say ‘ epigastrium,’ only that 
would make me feel worse. 

I “ Now, if there’s any anatomical spot in which the mem- 

1 bers of my family are especially sensitive, it’s the region of 

ij the stomach, and in less than a jiffy I was madder than a hor- 

net. I didn’t tell the professor how I felt, because my supplv 
; of breathing space was materially curtailed by his rather 

j abrupt and decidedly deep exploration of my abdomen. Feel- 

ing remarks were in order— but I wasn’t— so I was compelled 
j to omit the remarks, and take it out in feeling. I was mad 

:i . enough to kill the rufaan, and, had the ethics of the situation 

permitted it, I would have called another ‘regular ’ doctor in con- 
j sultation and despatched him at once — the professor, I mean, 

j “ There was nothing to do, however, but await an oppor- 

tunity — and breath — to wreak my vengeance upon the enemy. 
It came— or I thought it did— I made a terrific sweep of niy 
strong right arm and — * * * * * j j j n 


“ Young man, if anybody ever tries to convince you that 
hypnotism is a fraud, don’t you believe him ! Jule says that 




OVER THE HOOKAH. 


131 


I slipped and fell, but I know better — I was hypnotized, and I 
know it ! But I am at a loss to understand why I was ever 
allowed to come out of that trance — it was so blissfully free 
from all the disag-reeable sensations I have since had. 

“ When I recovered my senses, Jule was leaning* over me 
with a bottle of aqua ammonia, and was liberally applying- it 
to such parts of my face as he thoug-ht mig-ht connect more 
or less remotely with my nostrils. He seemed especially 
interested in my eyes. 

“ ‘ Well, old boy, you’re coming around at last,’ said Jule, 
with a sigh of relief.’ 

“ ‘ Where am I ? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Why, you’re right where you left off this morning. 
This is the boxing room of the gymnasium.’ 

“ ‘ What time is it?’ 

“ ‘It is just one o’clock,’ replied my good angel. 

“ ‘And where is the professor?’ I ventured. 

“ ‘ Oh, he has gone to dinner,’ said Jule. 

“‘Truly,’ I said musingly, ‘physical exercise is great 
for the appetite — of the other fellow.’ 

“On making an inventory of the various injuries I 
received when I fell into my trance, I found that my ankle 
was sprained, both of my shins were scraped and bleeding, 
and the back of my head presented a swelling as big as a 
base-ball. On further and more careful investigation, I found 
a suspiciously tender place on the left side of my jaw. The 
muscles in this vicinity seemed quite stiff and lame, and I so 
remarked to Jule, but he said he supposed I must have 
taken cold on account of my rather scanty attire. 

“ ‘It has probably settled in your neck, but you’ll be all 
right in a day or two,’ said my comforter. 

“ There may have been some doubt as to what I had 
caught, but none whatever as to where I had caught it. 

“As I had never heard of such a condition occurring in 
the trance state, I was compelled to concur in Jule’s diagnosis, 
but I couldn’t help thinking of a story of western life that 
seemed to fit my caser 

“A prominent citizen of a Kansas town, happened to 
visit a sawmill. His curiosity getting the better of his 


132 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


discretion, he became hopelessly mixed up with a larg-e 
circular saw — with dire and fatal results. The frag'ments 
were sent home, and as might have been expected, the whole 
town w^ent into the deepest mourning. The county paper, 
desirous of paying tribute to the memorjr of a truly good and 
great citizen, published a long, fulsome and glowing obituary, 
that ought to have made death welcome to any man. In con- 
cluding his eulogy of ‘our dear, departed friend ’ the editor 
said : 



“‘He was as good 
a man as ever stood in 
shoe-leather. He was 
an upright citizen, a 
master hand at poker, 
a dead shot, a God- 
fearing Christian, a 
kind and indulgent 


“it has probably settled in your neck.” 

father and husband, an ardent republican, and a man whose 
business capacity and integrity have never been questioned 

—but he was a d d fool on the subject of circular 

saws. ’ 

“As we rode slowly home in a cab that my friend kindly 
secured and for which I paid, by the way — I remarked to 
him that, to the best of my recollection, Sandow’s system 
comprised only ‘muscular movements..’ 

“ Jule cheerfully admitted that such was the fact— I was 
in no mood to be trifled with. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


133 


“‘Such being- the case,’ I continued, ‘there is really no 
urgent necessity of any side issues for the purpose of “worry- 
ing off fat,” and we will not seek further experience in that 
direction. Quick movements, sir, may be all right for some 
persons, but they are certainly contraindicated in individuals, 
who, like myself, are subject to the hypnotic state. 

“ ‘ Now, Jule,’ I further remarked, ‘I have no objections 
to buying you a small bottle, but I will do so only on condi- 
tions. In the first place, I would suggest that you keep your 
observations of the results of “quick movements” to your- 
self — I object to being the subject of clinical reports. It 
would, moreover, be injurious to my professional reputation, 
if it should ever become known that I am subject to attacks 
such as the one I have to-day experienced. 

“ ‘ Secondly, I want you to swear to the lie I am going to 
tell my wife. It is true that I am not as young as I once was, 
but she still loves me, and I think respects me, and I don’t 
care to have her know what a monumental ass I am.’ 

“Jule agreed — he’ll do anything for a bottle of wine — 
and to his credit I will say that I believe he will keep his 
promise. He selected ‘Mumm’ — and that speaks well for his 
discretion. 

“As Jule left me in the tender care of my wife, he could 
not forbear a final Parthian shaft, and called out — ‘ By the 
way, old man, what shall I say to the professor ? ’ 

“ ‘ Tell him to keep the change ! ’ I yelled. ” 

“But I am in a fair way to get about again, my boy, 
although even now, I feel much as did a certain negro down 
in Virginia, once upon a time. He was hobbling along the 
street on a cane one morning, looking as woe-begone as only 
a suffering darky can. Around his head he wore a bandage 
upon which dried traces of blood were plainly visible and 
which covered one of his eyes. One arm was supported in 
a sling, and his left foot was swathed in wrappings of red 
flannel. Taken all in all, the expression ‘shattered,’ would 
have fitted him better than most anything. 

“As our colored friend limped painfully along, he met 
his pastor, who thus accosted him: 


134 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ Hallo dar, br’er Jo’nsing-! how yo’ is sah ? ’ 

“ ‘I’se rig-ht poly thankee Eldah Smif, rig-ht poly sah.’ 

“ ‘ W’y, br’er Jo’nsing", yo’ aint lukin’ rig’ht peart, is 
yo’? Whut’s de mattah, hez yo’ done bin hab’in er fall, 
sah ? ’ 

“‘Hez I done bin habln er fall! Whut duz ma ‘pear- 
ance Ink like, sah, s’if I’d done bin tumblin’ in de wattah? 
Cos’e I’se bin habln er fall; doan’ I luk like it?’ 

“ ‘ Dat’s berry trubblesum, br’er Jo’nsing-, berry trubble- 
sum ’ndeed sah, but de g-ood Eawd done ’spenses trubble 
eben unto de Gawd-f earin man. How did it happen sah ? 

“ ‘ Well, yo’ see eldah, I wuz er wuk’n up hyah on Marse 
Thomps’nses’ house ’n I wuz er kar’yin er hod er bricks up 
de laddah ter de fo’th flo’, when de top rung- er de ole laddah 
done bruk, ’n let me down, kerchunk, ter de g-roun’, wid de 
hod on top o’ me! Ez I went down, I done hit de stag-in’ 
an’ bruk dis yeh ahm ’n brack’d dis yeh eye, ’n los’ dis eah, 
an’ fo’ frunt teef, an’ done strain dis ankle, an’ I ’clar ter g-ud- 
ness eldah, if it hadn’ bin fo’ lig-htin’ on ma hed on er pile er 
bricks dat kine er bruk ma fall, I’se feared sum ’pin serious 
wud er happen’d sho’s yo’ bawn,sah !’ 

“ Since I have been lying around the house in this deplor- 
able condition, I have wondered whether my sufferings were 
not retributive to a certain extent. You see, my boy, in the 
old days when I was a rollicking youth, I used to play some 
sad pranks, with little regard for persons — or their feelings 
either for that matter. 

“I remember one instance in particular, that bears 
rather pertinently upon my present condition and the man- 
ner of its acquirement : 

“ When I was a young man of twenty or thereabouts, I 
was a member of an amateur athletic association — an orna- 
mental member by the way, for I always did hate exertion. 
Peaceful repose was about my style, and the only thing that 
would arouse me from my serene and blissful state of innoc- 
uousness, was the opportunity of playing a practical joke — 
in the perpetration of which I was really quite energetic. 

“ One of my chums brought a friend with him to visit our 
club rooms one day, who, he said, was from Arizona. Tha 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 135 

fellow certainly looked like it, for if he wasn’t a wild and 
woolly ‘rustler’ I don’t know the breed. 

“We did the best we could to entertain our g-uest, and as 
he was to be in the city several days, we g’ave him an endless 
variety of amusements. 

“I had for some time been acknowledged to be the most 
expert billiard player in the club, and as a consequence, some 
of the members were a trifle jealous of my numerous victories. 
Not only were they jealous, but as the sequence proves, some 
of them were anxious to square accounts with me. 

“One evening, a game of billiards was proposed, and I 
was deputized to entertain our western friend — to my sub- 
sequent sorrow. 

“I don’t know where that fellow learned the game, but 
he certainly handled those balls in a manner I had never seen 
equalled. He did not show his skill, however, until he had 
beaten me a number of games by very small margins, after 
which he fairly ran away from me. 

“I was compelled to submit gracefully, but I confess 
that I experienced a ‘ skinned ’ sensation which was new to 
me. The boys were merciless, and the amount of treating 
I was compelled to do, bade fair to bankrupt me. 

“I might have tolerated the chaffing I received from my 
friends, but the insufferably patronizing air subsequently 
assumed by that cow-boy, drove me wild, and I resolved to be 
revenged. 

“ I had noticed that my woolly friend was so inflated with 
his own importance, that he considered himself unapproach- 
able in everything that happened to be suggested. Taking 
my cue from this, I skillfully directed the conversation into 
the subject of athletics. Was he at home in athletics? Well, 
I should say he was! — according to his own account. Wrest- 
ling? Why he could throw any man in his neck of the woods ! 
Boxing? Whew! That was the exercise he was brought up 
on. As for lifting — Samson wasn’t a circumstance! 

“The next evening I brought a guest to the club. I 
introduced him as my ‘ cousin’, who had injured himself by 
overstudy and was going to California for his health. He 
was a quiet, delicate-looking little chap, not much bigger than 


136 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


a pint of cider, and I was naturally very solicitous about him. 
By careful and watchful attention during- his visit to the club 
I managed to keep him sober — assuring the members that 
his health would not permit indulgence in stimulants. 

“During the evening I beguiled the boys into the gym- 
nasium. Lying in plain sight was a set of boxing gloves, and 
as I had anticipated, the wild westerner at once pounced upon 
them and began bragging as usual. 

“ One thing led to another, and the slab-sided giant began 
to fairly coax someone to give him a chance to show his skill. 
My ‘ cousin ’ asked if he might try the game, and in spite of 
my pitiful entreaties insisted on putting on the gloves. At 
last I yielded, after taking the westerner aside and imploring 
him to be careful not to hurt the lad. He winked significantly 
at his friends, and solemnly promised that he would be as 
gentle as a Summer breeze — a promise that he had no par- 
ticular difficulty in keeping. 

“ The contestants faced each other, and I assure you the 
sight was as amusing as a Punch and Judy show. As I had 
expected, the big animal went at my protege like a cyclone. 
For a moment, I was somewhat afraid that my innocent little 
joke was going to be spoiled — but it wasn’t. Exasperated be- 
yond endurance by his failure to annihilate the little chap, the 
woolly one made a wild rush and a terrible swing at him, that, 
had it struck the mark, would then and there have resulted 
in a homicide! But ’twas different, quite. Nobody could see 
exactly how it happened, but the big braggart was suddenly 
raised from the floor and landed squarely upon his back, ten 
feet away, where he lay like a log! 

“I was afraid the fellow would never revive, and I still 
have my doubts as to whether what little sense he had, ever 
did come back to him, but he finally recovered sufficiently to 
return to his hotel, where he was compelled to remain in 
seclusion until the tumorous swelling that had developed on 
his jaw subsided. 

“As I paid my ‘cousin’ for his share of the performance, 
I remarked that he had not only earned his money but I had 
certainly received the quid pro quo. Whereupon the 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


137 


€x-f eather-weig'ht remarked, ‘ Say, Doc, send for me whenever 
you’ve g-ot another mark. ’ 

“As I sneaked back to the gymnasium, ripped open one of 
the gloves that my ‘cousin’ wore, and poured out the handful 
of fine birdshot that I had put in it — ‘just before the battle 
mother’ — I couldn’t help saying — ‘He laughs best who 
laughs last ! ’ ” 

“ Well, my boy, it is after eleven o’clock, and I can plainly 
see that you are tired and sleepy. You can now appreciate 
the danger of inducing me to become reminiscent. 

“Good night.” 





LARRY'S CONTRIBUTIONS TO "FISHOLOGY 
AND THE HISTORY OF IRELAND, 



V all the charmers thit iver 
was seen — 

No matther what their com< 
piixion or sthoyle, 

There’s divil a wan loike me 
ould dhudeen, 

Ez ye wud know if ye’d 
shmoke it awhoile, 


Sure it’s not very han’sum nor yit very big — 

The bowl it is clumsy an’ black j 

The shtem is a hole troo a bit uv a thwigj 

In its soide is a turrible crack ! 

But, tho’ it’s not purthy , its flavor is noice j 
It’s the greatesht poipe thit iver was seen, 

Its smell is far swater nor flowers or shpoice — 
There’s nothin’ thit shmokes loike me ould dhudeen ! 






r 


% 









# 





.. 




THIS DO BE AISIER WORRUK NOR FISHIN’. ” 



LARRY'S CONTRIBUTIONS TO "FISHOLOGY" AND 
THE HISTORY OF IRELAND, 



I T so happened that, during the 
afternoon, I had accompanied a 
"A medical friend to a trial in the 


Circuit court, in which he 
testified as an expert. The 
case was one of alleged mal- 
practice brought against a 
prominent opthalmologist — a 
man of excellent judgment and 
unexceptionable professional 
and scientific standing. 


It appeared that, according to the evidence, the complain- 
ant had been a charity patient at a well known institution of 
this city, devoted to the treatment of diseases of the eye and 
ear. 

The case was primarily under the charge of a dis- 
tinguished professor of opthalmology in one of our most 
famous medical colleges. The professor, being compelled to 
leave the city for a few days, left the case under the care of 
a colleague — the defendant in the malpractice suit — also a 
professor of opthalmology in a reputable medical school. 

The testimony showed that the gentleman who was the 
victim of the patient’s malevolence, had simply carried out the 
treatment originally prescribed by the physician who left the 
case in his charge. 

There was apparently no reason for apprehension regard- 
ing the case, but, unfortunately, both for patient and 
physician, a serious complication arose very shortly after the 
departure of the gentleman to whom the case properly 
belonged, and resulted in the loss of one of the patient’s eyes. 


144 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


There was no difficulty in proving- that the disaster was 
due to conditions over which the physician had no control, and 
the charg-e of malpractice was therefore not sustained. 

I was much g-ratified with the outcome of the suit, and, 
when I saw Doctor Weymouth, I mentioned the case to him, 
at the same time commenting on the good fortune of the 
defendant. 

There are few things that arouse my friend’s temper, 
but it wa.s immediately evident that the subject of malprac- 
tice suits was an especially sensitive point with him. I shall 
not try to present his remarks in full; I will, however, endea- 
vor to give their salient features, leaving out his expletives 
and most of his exclamation points. 

“The doctor was fortunate to get off so easily. The 
members of that jury should each be presented with a halo* 
It is seldom that a jury has intelligence enough to weigh 
medical evidence, or for that matter, honesty enough to try to 
do so. The average jury is against the doctor in malpractice 
suits, despite the evidence. It often happens that one or 
more of the jurymen has a fancied grievance against some 
doctor or other; then woe betide the luckless victim of the 
malpractice suit! 

“The alleged grievance usually consists in the fact that 
the doctor’s ledger shows up a large balance due him from 
the aggrieved juryman, for professional services. The same 
grievance sometimes influences one or more members of the 
jury when a doctor sues for his fees. 

“Malpractice suits, with very few exceptions, are the 
greatest outrages ever tolerated by a civilized community. 
There is not one case in a hundred, in which a suit for mal- 
practice is justified by the facts. Indeed, it is my own be- 
lief that not one case in a thousand, in which a malpractice 
suit is brought against a reputable medical man, is founded 
upon either justice, reason or scientific facts. 

“There are several reasons why malpractice suits are 
frequent : 

“One of the most important is their cheapness to the 
complainant. It is a simple matter to find an alleged lawyer 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


145 


who will bring* suit on a conting’ent fee, irrespective of the 
merits of the case — as I have said, there is rarely a case that 
has any merit in it. Reputable lawyers realize this, and sel- 
dom take such cases. It costs but a trifle — about ten dollars, I 
believe — to bring- suit, and many a poor doctor has allowed 
himself to be sandbag^g-ed out of considerable of his hard- 
earned money, by a compromise, rather than underg-o the 
expense and loss of reputation incidental to a suit for alleg-ed 
damag-es. 

“I happen to know something- about the case you have 
mentioned. There never was a more damnable farce than 
the prosecution of that suit! A totally irresponsible patient 
bring's suit ag-ainst a physician, who is undeniably compe- 
tent, for alleg-ed malpractice sustained while under U’eatment 
at a charitable infirmary! It costs practically nothing- to 
bring- the suit, and althoug-h the doctor successfully fig-hts 
the attempt at blackmail, even his success is expensive — the 
case costs him thousands of dollars, both in actual outlay of 
money and loss of reputation. Our brilliant successes may 
not be exploited, but our failures and alleg-ed mistakes are 
heralded to the farthest parts of the earth. 

“By no means the least important of the influences that 
foster malpractice suits, is the readiness with which some 
physicians can be induced to criticise one another. Behind 
many a case of alleg-ed malpractice, stands an unethical, 
ig-norant, or venomous doctor. A certain proportion of 
medical practitioners — a small proportion, thank fortune! — 
is composed of men who are so eg-otistic as to assume that 
any departure from their own arbitrary standards consti- 
tutes g-ross malpractice. Such eg-otism would simply inspire 
pity, if its victims would only keep their opinions to them- 
selves, but this is not in accord with their ideas of their 
own importance — they must needs criticise before an audi- 
ence. Pray do not think it is only the obscure or disreputa- 
ble practitioner who acts in this unseemly manner — I could 
g-ive you some names of such men that would surprise you. 

“Strang-e as it may seem, it is never difficult to secure 
alleg-ed experts who will g-o upon the witness stand and testify 
ag-ainst a professional brother in a suit for malpractice. Some 


146 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


of them achieve in this manner, a publicity they would 
otherwise never acquire — and they make the most of the 
opportunity I assure you. 

“I will admit that physicians are often trapped into 
criticisms of one another. It is quite easy to be innocently 
drawn into an expression of opinion that is construed as a 
criticism of the physician who has previously had charg-e of 
a case. Patients often accomplish this, by relating- the ‘abuse’ 
they have suffered at the hands of the g-entleman in whose 
care they have been, until by a streak of g-ood fortune they 
heard of the ‘g-reat doctor’ — yourself. 

“Beware how you sympathize with such people! Call 
up your predecessor by telephone, and ascertain how much 
the patient owes him — then charge cash fees. Remem- 
ber that the patient who defrauds and criticises another phy- 
sician, will also defraud and criticise you — you are no better 
and perhaps no more skillful than he, nor will the patient 
appreciate you one whit more than he did your co7ifrere. Do 
not be egotistic and you will make few mistakes in this 
direction. Educated, scientific physicians average very much 
alike, and one must be careful how he assumes an air of 
superiority in the presence of a disgruntled patient. 

“Reputable physicians should stand by their brethren 
through thick and thin. When you enter practice let your 
motto be, ‘My brother practitioner against the world ! ’ This 
principle, consistently followed, will do more to prevent mal- 
practice suits than anything I know of. When the matter of 
scientific treatment of disease is under dispute, do not forget 
that your brother physician is much more likely to be right 
than a disgruntled, ignorant, and perhaps malevolent lay- 
man. 

“Speaking of juries*,— did you ever consider the injustice 
of selecting a jury of laymen — and such laymen as a rule — to 
try a malpractice suit? A jury of our ‘peers,’ forsooth! 
Just think of it ! 

“But I must not consume the entire evening discussing 
malpractice suits; the hookah is bubbling over with good 
nature to-night and, its genial air suggests that the time for 
our usual story has arrived. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


147 


“As you well know, I have a keen appreciation of unique 
characters. I have derived more pleasure from the indul- 
gence of my -penchant for their study than from any or- 
dinary amusement. The story that I propose to relate to 
you, is the result of my association with a character who is 
at once amusing and entertaining. Were we to take his own 
word for it, he might even be regarded as instructive, as the 
sequel will show: 

“Until recent years it was my custom to take a few days 
duck hunting among the Wisconsin lakes. I cannot say that 
I was ever a very successful or enthusiastic sportsman, 
indeed, my indulgence was more because of a sense of the 
necessity of a holiday, than because I was fond of the expo- 
sure to the raw winds and rainy weather that usually charac- 
terize the duck shooting season, for the sake of a few miser- 
able birds. 

“ Shooting wild fowl is always hard work, but I lessened 
my labors considerably by employing guides to row me about. 
My favorite guide was a middle-aged Irishman by the name 
of Larry Powers. 

“My Irish friend had several characteristics that made 
him invaluable to me. He smoked such strong tobacco in his 
old, black dhudeen, that the festive mosquito came not forth 
from his lair, and he had such a constant thirst that the well- 
filled flask which I always carried with me — in case of heart 
failure, you know — was never neglected. 

“No one knew the choice shooting grounds better than 
Larry, and no one knew ‘ duckology ’ better than he. 

“Sitting in my staunch little boat, watching my decoys 
in the hope that some silly duck would alight among them, 
and inhaling the rich aroma of Larry’s spirited breath and old 
black pipe while the wind whistled around my shivering 
form, was as near the ideal of bliss as one could possibly 
attain — in duck hunting. When the ducks did not respond 
to the seductive wiles of my dignified decoys, life was still 
endurable, for Larry was a most agreeable companion, and 
gave me very valuable and entertaining information upon the 
most varied subjects. 


148 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“One morning*, after an hour of fruitless waiting for 
ducks, Larry proceeded to give me a didactic lecture on fish- 
ing, coloring his remarks by the most elaborate and florid 
profanity I had ever heard. Now, profanity has nothing re- 
markable about it as a rule, but my Irish friend was evi- 
dently a past master in the art of swearing, and as I cannot 
do him justice, I shall not attempt a verbatim account of his 
remarks — in that particular direction at least. 

“ ‘ Well,Larry, I said, T seem to be having bad luck this 
morning. I might better have taken a pole and gone fishing, 
even though it is out of season.’ 

‘“Oh well, sorr, replied Larry consolingly, ‘this do be 
aisier worruk nor fishin’, aven in the saison. Inny wan kin 
shoot dooks, but begorra, it takes plinty of brains to ketch 
fish!’ 

“‘Indeed, sir, and why are brains so essential in fishing?’ 
I asked, ignoring the inferential and somewhat dubious com- 
pliment. 

“I saw that Larry did not quite comprehend my ques- 
tion, so I remodeled it a little : 

“ ‘Why does one need so much brains in fishing, Larry?’ 

“‘That's aisy ’nough t’ ixplain, sorr. A fish is so dom 
smart, he do bes afther havin’ more brains nor a man.’ 

“‘Why, I was not aware that fish had any particular 
amount of brains,’ I said. 

“‘Sure, an’ didn’t ye know that, docthor?’ said Larry, 
wonderingly, and, I thought, somewhat sympathetically. Oi 
shposed all the docthors knowed thit fishes has plinty of 
brains. Why sorr, if they didn’t have no brains, how the 
divil cud they iver do so much thinkin’. 

“ ‘ Thinking ! ’ I exclaimed, ‘ Do fish ever think ? ' 

“ ‘ Do they think, sorr ?-do-they-think ? ' he replied, with 
a fine show of pity for my startling ignorance, ‘ well, Oi shud 
think they did think! an’ don’t ye iver be afther thinkin’ they 
donH think, sorr ! ’ 

“‘Well, Larry,’ I said, ‘I am not going to dispute your 
knowledge of “fishology,” but pray enlighten me on a subject 
on which I confess the densest ignorance, by informing me 
how you know that fish think.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


149 


I 

I 

V Sure, an’ Oi will, sorr! Well — jist shpose thit ye’re 

, g-oin’ out fishin’. Ye takes some foine bait along- wid yez, but 

> ye don’t put none on the hook. The fish he comes up d’ ye 



“BE JABBERS, OI’M THINKIN’ THERE’S A HOOK IN THAT FELLER’S 
BELLY ! ” 

moind, an’ sees the hook, an’ thinks he sees his breakfasht. 
An’ mebbe ye think ye’ll ketch him but ye won’t thin. He’s 
too dom’d shmart fer yez, that’s pfwat he is! The fish comes 
up an’ shmells the hook an’ thin he thinks to himsilf, “ That 


150 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


hook’s bare, begorra, an’ Oi think Oi won’t shwally it” — an’ 
away he goes, an’ ye don’t ketch him sorr!’ 

“‘Thin yez pulls up yer hook an’ puts some bait on it, an’ 
ye think sure ye’ll ketch him this toime, but be jabbers the 
fish don’t think so himsilf ! He jist luks at the bait an’ thin 
he thinks to himsilf, “Be the powers! that thing’s dead, an’ Oi 
don’t blave I’ll thry it at all, at all,” an’ away he goes, an’ thin 
ye’re beginnin’ to think the little baste is too shmart fer yez!’ 

“ ‘ Thin yez put some Irish bait on the hook, sorr, an’ ye 
thrun it away out in the wather, an’ ye moves it up an’ dowm 
an’ think ye’ll ketch the fivsh — an’ mebbe he do bes afther 
thinkin’ so too — an’ thin agin, mebbe he don’t.’ 

“‘WeU, the fish he thinks he sees his breakfasht agin, 
an’ he comes up an’ siz to himsilf, “Howly Moses! Oi think 
that little divil’s aloive an’ Oi think Oi’ll swally him” — an’ thin 
p’raps ye ketch him. But sometoimes he siz to himsilf siz he, 
“Be jabbers! Oi’m thinkin’ there’s a hook in that feller’s 
belly, an’ Oi don’t think Oi’ll swally him at all at all, Oi’ll jist 
draw him off’n the hook, that’s pfwat Oi’ll do.” An’ thin 
mebbe ye think ye’ve got him, but be the poiper thit played 
before Moses, yez don’t git a shmell of the spalpeen!’ 

“‘ Yis,sorr, fishes has plinty of brains. Tare an’ ouns 
sorr! they do bes loike the Oirishman’s owl, they don’t talk 
much, but be the howly Pope, they’re afther kapin up a 
divil of a thinkin’ all the whoile ! ’ 

“I was forced to admit that Larry had most effectually 
proven his case.” 


“‘Larry,’ I said, ‘I have noticed with some solicitude, 
that you are addicted to the reckless use of profanity. You 
swear upon the average, with every other breath. I surmise 
that you are a catholic, and I am surprised that you so entirely 
disregard the tenets of your religion.’ 

“ ‘Well, docthor,’ replied Larry, ‘Oi’m not the bist cath- 
olic in the worruld, that’s a fact. Oi’m afraid that Oi’ve back- 
shlided sorr, but begorra, Oi’ve had religion this long toime!’ 

“ ‘ Granted that you have backslid, Larry, I suppose that 
you entertain, even now, distinct and positive beliefs on some 
religious subjects, do you not ? 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


151 


“‘Pfwat’s that ye say,sorr?’ asked Larry, with mouth 
ag’ape. 

“ ‘Why, Larry,’ I replied, ‘I want to know if you really 
believe in anything- of a relig-ious nature.’ 

“‘Oh! is that it, sorr? Sure, an’ Oi b’lave in a g-re’t 
minny thing-s!’ 

‘“Ah, indeed! would you mind mentioning- some of them?’ 

“ ‘Well,’ said Larry, ‘there’s the Howly Virg-in, an’ the 
Pope, an’ the blessed shamrock, an’ a hull lot o’ thing-s like thim, 
thit Oi b’lave in, sorr. Faith, an’ Oi cudn’t tell yez the hull of 
’em in a wake ! ’ 

“‘Oh, that will be enoug-h for the sake of arg-ument, 
Larry. Now,’ I said, ‘would you mind g-iving- me some idea 
of the foundation of your faith ? Of course, I can readily 
understand your grounds for belief in the Holy Virgin and 
the Pope, but I am at loss to know why the shamrock should 
be part of your religious creed — that point is new to me. 
Indeed, I have never quite understood why the shamrock is 
the national plant of the Emerald Isle. To be sure, I have a 
slight knowledge of the subject from my historical reading, 
but I should like some definite information from so excellent 
an authority as yourself.’ 

“It was evident that Larry was not capable of following 
my question intelligently, for he sat staring at me in helpless, 
wild-eyed bewilderment. 

“ ‘ Plaze sorr, an’ pfwat d’ ye mane ?’ he asked. 

“‘Why, I want to know what the shamrock has to do 
with your religion, and why it is the particular emblem of old 
Ireland that inspires every loyal Irish heart,’ I replied. 

“ ‘Sure, an’ don’t ye know that, sorr ?’ he exclaimed, look- 
ing at me amazedly. 

“‘Didn’t yez iver hear about that? It was Saint Path- 
rick himsilf, thit made the shamrock the chief vig’table of 
ould Oireland— barrin’ the pratie. D’ye moind St. Pathrick, 
Docthor ? ’ 

“ ‘I have heard of him, Larry, if that’s what you mean.’ 
I answ'ered. 

“ ‘ Well, thin, ye knows all about how he thrun all the 
shnakes an’ frogs out o’ the ould sod. But p’raps yez niver 


152 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

heard about the g-iants, thit th’ ould feller thrun out at 
the same toime?' 

“ ‘ Then there are giants in Ireland, Larry?’ I asked. 

“ ‘No, sorr, divil a wan at the prisint toime!’ he replied, 
in evident disgust. ‘Oi don’t mane thit they do bes afther 
havin’ giants over there now sorr, but in thim days there was 
slathers o’ giants in Oireland, an’ ivery dom’d wan o’ thim 
was a doorty ould hay then. 

‘“Well, sorr, the Howly Saint Pathrick was a purthy 
shmart ould divil, an’ he heard about thim frogs an’ thim 
shnakes an’ the haythen giants thit was over in th’ ould 
counthry sorr, an’ he siz to himsilf, “Begorra!” siz he, “Oi’ll 
be afther goin’ over there an’ chasin’ all o’ thim riptyles into 
the say, an’ Oi’ll convert ivery dom’d haythen in the hull 
oyland, an’ don’t ye forgit it!” With that, sorr, th’ould man 
got aboord his steam yacht, thit was foiner thin inny jook’s, 
an’ he shlips over to Oireland rale airly wan mornin’, before 
inny o’ thim shnakes an’ frogs had thought o’ their break- 
fashts yit, an’ phwat does he do but chase the whole pack o’ 
thim into the say, an’ that’s pfwy yez can’t foind inny o’ thim 
bastes in the hull counthry now, sorr.’ 

“‘And are there really none to be found now-a-days, 
Larry ?’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Divil a wan, sorr, divil a wan ! ’ he replied. 

“ ‘An’ thin, after th’ ould saint had got through clanin’ 
house, an’ the frogs an’ shnakes was all swally ’d be the sharks 
an’ the porpusses, he siz to himsilf siz he, “Now,Oi’il be 
afther takin’ a gre’t big fall out o’ thim giants! An’ be the 
howly shmoke! if the dom’d haythen divils don’t git converted, 
an’ let me baptoise thim in the howly water, Oi’ll par’lyze the 
hull pack o’ thim!” 

“ ‘ Well, sorr, there was a big gang o’ thim haythen giants, 
an’ it took about a wake, before the howly saint got aroun’ to 
thim all, but pfwen he did strike wan o’ thim fellers, he 
ayther got converted quicker thin if the divil was afther him, 
or th’ ould man jist poonched him in the liver wid a big shtick 
wid an oiron prod on th’ ind avit, ’till he ayther was baptoised 
or got crowded clane ofF’n th’ oyland into the say !’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


153 


“ ‘Well,’ I remarked, ‘ the holy saint was quite radical in 
his methods, to say the least. I presume that he converted 
them all. Most men would have accepted relig’ion without 
arg-ument, under the persuasion of the g"Ood man’s iron 
prod. ’ 

“ ‘ So yez mig-ht think, sorr, so yez might think, but there 
was wan ould feller thit arg-yfied to bate the very ould divil 
himsilf — an’ Oi shpose for the matther o’ that, the divil was in 
him innyhow.’ 

“ ‘Ah ! then there was one giant who presumed to dis- 
cuss the matter with the good Saint Patrick ? I suppose the 
saint got angry and made very short work of him — that giant 
must have got his stomach full of salt water or a hole in his 
liver. He might better have swallowed religion, holy water 
and all, Larry,’ I said, laughingly. 

“ ‘ Yez don’t same to understhand th’ould man, docthor,’ 
replied Larry. ‘ Argyfyin’ was Saint Pathrick’s besht hoult. 
Why, he cud talk a lung out o’ th’ ould Nick himsilf ! Aven 
the Pope — more power to him — cudn’t hould a candle to th’ 
■ould saint. Howly Mother! how ould Saint Pathrick cud 
talk! Be jabbers, yez haven’t got a lawyer in yer hull dom’d 
town thit cud talk wid him!’ 

“ ‘ Oh, I see !’ I said. ‘ He tried to convert this obdurate 
giant in spite of himself, by the weight of theological argu- 
ment. Pray, how did the plan succeed?’ 

“ ‘ Oi was jist goin’ to tell ye, sorr,’ replied Larry. ‘This 
giant, do yez moind, was a big red-headed feller be the name 
o’ Finn. Now this Finn was the biggest dom’d giant in the 
hull gang o’ thim. An’ he wasn’t inny ould one-harse giant 
ayther, Oi’ll tell ye that, sorr — he come from a rale ould royal 
Oirish faml’y thit be the same token, do bes called Finnegan 
now-a-days. An’ Oi want yez to understhand thit thim same 
Finnegans is afther havin’ bluer an’ thicker blood thin ould 
Brian Boru, the gre’t Oirish King himsilf sorr !’ 

“ ‘ Whin Saint Pathrick caught this feller Finn, he saw 
thit th’ ould red-headed haythen divil wasn’t sheared a little 
bit, an’ the saint siz to himsilf, “Be the powers! Oi’ll thry a 
little arbytrashun wid this big haythen.” Ye see, sorr, St. 
Pathrick wasn’t shtuck on the dom’d English, but he was on 


154 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

to the'r arbytrashun bizness jist the same, an’ he thried it on 
this feller Finn.’ 

‘ “Finn,” sez he, kind o’ moild loike, “I’ve been thinkin’ 
for some toime, thit yez oug’ht to be in the church. Now, 
ye’re a foine, big, handsome feller, an’ ye’d be a ornymint to 
the church if yez would only let me convert ye.” 

‘ “ The divil ye soy ! ” siz Finn, kind o’ shmart loike, “ an’ 
pfwat the h 1 do Oi want wid yer dom’d religion?” 

‘“Ye see, sorr, this feller Finn was a haythen, an’ he 
swore loike the very divil sorr. But the howly Saint 
Pathrick didn’t moind that, an’ he jist thrun the sass roight 
back at him.’ 

‘“Ye think ye’re dom’d shmart,” siz the howly man,, 
kind o’ shmoilin’ loike, “but ye’d betther be thinkin’ it over,” 
an’ wid that, the saint sets down on a bit of a sthone, an’ 
begins playin’ on a harp thit he was afther havin’ wid him., 
Afther a whoile the good ould man shtops his playin’ an’ siz^ 
“ Have yez got yer moind made up yit, Misther Finn?” 

‘ “ To the divil wid yer ould religion, St. Pathrick ! ” siz 
Finn. “Yez play a dom’d fine chime but ye can’t worruk on 
my feelin’s wid inny of yer church music. Yer harp is 
swater thin yer voice, but ye can’t fool yer uncle Finn.” 

“ ‘Sayin’ which, Finn turns his nose up at th’ good ould 
saint jist the same as if he shmelt bad, sorr — the red-headed, 
ignerant, ould haythen divil!’ 

“‘But St. Pathrick was too dom’d shmart to be sur- 
rind’rin’ to inny haythen barbarian loike Finn, an’ so he siz 
to him siz he — “Ye dom’d ould Boolgarian ye! pfwat’s the 
matther wid yez innyhow? Pfwat’s the matther wid religion, 
Oi’d loike to know — don’t yez think O’im on to me job? 
P’raps yez think ye don’t nade no religion, but, begorra, ye’ll 
foind out whin ye dies! Tare an’ ouns, Finn! but it’s gre’t 
foirewoorks ye’ll be afther makin’ wid that foine ould red 
nob o’ yers! Begorra, if yez don’t understhand religion — 
an’ be the powers, Oi don’t b’lave ye do!— say so, y’ ould divil, 
an’ Oi’ll put yez on!” 

“‘Wid these worruds, St. Pathrick thrun his own nose 
up into the air till he was shmellin’ the back of his nick— 
goin’ the giant jist wan betther, d’yez moind !’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


155 


‘“Oh ho! me laddie bu’k!” sez Finn, be^innin’ t’ git 
riled up a bit, “ye’re afther gittin’ on yer ear, air yez? Well, 
Misther Saint Pathrick or Misther the divil is all the same 
to Finn! If yez don’t loike me shtoyle, begorra ye kin git 
aboord yer ould mudshcow an’ go home to yer ould woman, 
before Oi makes a charmin’ widdyoff’n her. Be the powers! 
it was not mesilf thit sint yez an invitashun to visit this 
oyland, an’ if yez don’t loike me shtoyle ye know pfwat ye 
kin do!” 

“ ‘ Wid that, Finn shnaps his fingers at the howly saint, 
the same as to say, “Go to the divil, y’ ould spalpeen! ” — which, 
be the same token, was pfwat he mint, sorr.’ 

“ ‘Well, sorr. Saint Pathrick wasn’t afraid o’ th’ ould divil 
himsilf, an’ he had a timper loike a cross ould woman, but he 
siz to himsilf siz he, “Now see here, Pathrick me bye, it’s no 
use proddin’ holes in this big haythen divil the same as ye 
have the rist o’ thim giants. This feller’ll make a pillar of 
the church as sthrong as ould Samson himsilf. Oi’ll jist kape 
me timper an’ con him a bit.” 

“ ‘Wid this, the wise ould duffer luked at Finn kind o’ 
shmoilin’ loike an’ siz, “Now luk here, Finn; it’s a complimint 
Oi’m afther payin’ yez pfwen Oi axes ye into the church. 
Ye’re a broth of a bye, an’ Oi’m bound to convert ye before 
Oi lave this oyland, or begorra Oi’ll go into the joonk bizness, 
that’s pfwat Oi’ll do, an’ quit preachin’ to haythens alto- 
gither !” 

“ ‘ Well, ye see, docthor, the dom’d ould fool, Finn, was a 
little shtuck on himsilf wid the taffy th’ ould man was givin’ 
him, an’ so, drawin’ himsilf up till he bumped his nose on a 
gre’t big cloud, pfwat he didn’t obsarve troo lukin’ at Saint 
Pathrick, he siz, siz he : 

‘ “ Pfwat the divil’s the use in talkin’ to me, about yer 
dom’d conversion? Oi’d take some shtock in yer ould 
religion if Oi cud understhand some of yer monkey business 
— thit yez can’t ixshplain yersilf, y’ ould spalpeen!” 

‘“Ah!” siz St. Pathrick, bristlin’ up loike, “An’ if Oi’ll 
ixshplain the thing to yez, thin will yez be converted?” 

“‘Sure, an’ Oi will that,” siz Finn, “an’ as soon as ye 
loike.” 


156 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 





‘ “All roight, me 
bye,” siz the howly 
saint, “ foire away wid 
yer quistions.” 

‘ “Sure, an’ Oi’ll not 
ask yez very minny. 


“WAN, TWO, THREE — KIN YEZ COUNT AT ALL AT ALL?’’ 

sorr,” siz Finn, “there’s jist wan little fake thit ye have, 
thit Oi’d loike to understhand. Oi’ve heard ould shtiffs loike 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


157 


yez,talk religion befoor. They do bes afther talkin’ about 
somethin’ pfwat they calls ‘The Howly Trinity,’ an’ they’re 
afther makin’ three people into wan. Now, y’ ould sucker, if 
ye’ll show me how yez make three people out o’ wan, or wan 
into three, Oi’ll belave yez, an’ begorra Oi’ll be converted the 
day, dom’d if Oi don’t!” 

‘ “Well, go ahid with yer catechism,” siz Saint Pathrick, 
kind o’ chucklin’ to himsilf loike. “ If yez think ye kin shtick 
th’ ould man ye’re a daisy !” 

‘ “Ye dom’d ould fool!” siz Finn, “pfwat are yez trying 
to do, play harse wid me? Answer the quistion Oi’m jist 
afther axin ye ! How the divil do yez make three out o’ wan ? ” 

‘ “Faith, an’ Oi was jist guyin’ ye,” siz Saint Pathrick. 
“ That’s an’ aisy wan. Here yez have it, Finn,” an’ shtoopin’ 
down, the shmart ould divil picked up a bit av a lafe, an’ siz, 
siz he, “Luk at this, ye dom’d ould haythen ye, here’s a 
shamrock lafe — it’s only one lafe, an’ it takes three lafes to 
make it up! Wan, two, three — kin yez count at all at all, ye 
ould red-headed divil ye? An’ now do yez understhand The 
Trinity, ye blunderin’ gossoon?” 

“ ‘Well, ye see, sorr. Saint Pathrick had Finn up a 
shtump, an’ the big blackguard knowed it. 

‘ “ Howly shmoke! ” siz Finn, “pfwy the divil didn’t yez 
put me on to that befoor? Av coorse Oi’ll be converted ! Jist 
name yer toime, an’ Oi’ll take a resairved sate at the cere- 
mony,” siz he. “Be gorra, Saint Pathrick, yez ought to be 
a joodge on the binch— only ye’re too dom’d shmart!” 

‘ “ Well,” siz Saint Pathrick, “seein’as how yez have paid 
the proice to the show, Oi’ll jist convert ye at wance. Shtay 
roight where y’ air, an’ Oi’ll git the howly wather an’ bap- 
toiseye!” 

“‘Wid this, the howly Saint shticks his proddin’ oiron 
into the ground’ an’ goes away afther the wather. 

“ ‘ Well, sorr. Saint Pathrick was gone for about an 
liour— the howly wather was down at th’ ould man’s yacht, 
an’ it tuk a long toime to git it an’ fix it ready for to baptoise 
the giant. Do yez moind docthor, thit giants do be afther 
takin’ a hull tub full o’ wather to baptoise thim, an’ Saint 
Pathrick wanted to make a good job av it, sorr. 


158 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 



“GIANTS DO BE AETHER TAKIN’ A HULL TUB FULL O’ WATHER 
TO BAPTOISE THIM. ’’ 

“ ‘ Whin Saint Pathrick g-ot back wid his tub o’ howly 
wather, he siz: “Come here now, Mister Finn, an’ Oi’ll bap- 
toise the very divil out o’ yez!” 

‘“Come here yersilf,” sez Finn, “Oi’m not sthrollin’ 
around much these days!” 

“ ‘An’ thin the howly man walked up to Finn, an’ rolled 
up his shleeves, an’ got riddy to souse th’ ould giant. 


“‘Now, unbeknownst to himsilf. Saint Pathrick had 
druv the proddin’ iron av his big shtick, troo Misther Finn’s 
flit — thit was as big as a bay windy, an’ covered half th’ 
oyland. The shtick wint clane troo the fut into the groun’, 
an’ nailed Finn to the airth, an’ divil a move could he move, 
sorr. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


159 


“ ‘All at wance, lukin down, Saint Pathrick siz: “Howly 
Moses, Finn! pfwat’s that on yer fut?” 

‘ “Sure, an’ its blood,” siz Finn, “air yez bloind or drunk? 
Yez sthuck yer dom’d ould stick into me fut, an’ nailed me 
to the oyland. Was yez afraid Oi’d fly away, y’ ould fool, or 
was yez afraid the oyland would be afther floatin’ off?” 

‘ “ Howly Virg-in!” cried the howly man, “pfwy the divil 
didn’t yez pull it out, ye poor ould fool ye ?” 

‘ “Pull it out!” siz Finn,” pull it out! An’ for why wud 
Oi pull it out ? Beg-orra, Oi thoug-ht ’twas part av the 
cer — e — mo — ny ! ” 

“ ‘Now, Saint Pathrick was a tinder-hearted man, sorr. 
Some min wud ha’ said,thit ’twas a dom’d foine joke on Mis- 
ther Finn, but the howly saint didn’t luk at it that way. He 
luked Finn in the oye for a minute — lavin’ the sthick in the 
fut all the whoile, d’ ye moind? — an’ thin he sphilt ivery 
dom’d bit o’ the howly wather all over the shamrock bed! 

‘ “Finn,” siz he, kind o’ shnivellin’ loike, “howly wather 
aint g'ood enoug-h for the loikes o’ yersilf ! A man pfwat kin 
shthand the loikes o’ that, for the sake of his relig-ion, don’t 
nade no baptoisin! Oi’ve baptoised the shamrock instid, 
an’ be the same token, that swate little lafe shall be th’ imblim 
av yer faith foriver!” 

“‘Wid that. Saint Pathrick pulled out the shtick an’ 
blessed the hole in Finn’s fut an’ haled it roig-ht up. 

“ ‘An’ Saint Pathrick made an’ assishtant converter out 
o’ Finn, an’ he was a power in the church. An’ if yez look 
the matther up, sorr, ye’ll foind minny o’ thim same Finne- 
g-ans pfwat descinded frum ould Misther Finn, in the church 
at the prisint toime — which shows thit Oi’m afther tellin’ yez 
no lie, sorr.’ 

“ ‘Ah ! Larry my boy, Finn should have been canonized !’ 
I exclaimed. 

“ ‘ Sure an’ pfwat’s that, sorr?’ he asked. 

“ ‘ Why, he should have been made a saint.’ 

“ ‘ Oh, that’s pfwat yez mane !’ said Larry. 

“ ‘ Well, sorr. Saint Pathrick did put in a g'ood worrud for 
.him, an’ Finn was promised the foorst place thit was vacant. 
But Saint Pathrick died soon afther that, an’, as Finn didn’t 


160 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


have inny other pull, an’ there was only a few Oirishmin on 
the board to vote for him, the poor divil got lift, an’ had to 
worruk himsilf to death aimin’ a livin’ at day labor all the rist 
of his loife. ’Twas him as builded the big bridge they do be 
afther callin’ the Giant’s Causeway, sorr.’ 

“‘Well, Larry,’ I said, ‘the Finnegans of to-day are 
certainly getting even — the more power to ’em.’ 

“And poor Larry is still wondering what I meant.” 

“Come, my dear young friend; the hookah is out, and the 
ashes on your havana have long since passed the bedtime 
mark! 

“ Good night sir, and peaceful slumbers to you.” 


HOW A VERSATILE YOUNG DOCTOR REPORTED 
A SOCIETY EVENT, 



SIT at night in dreamful 
ease — 

In pensive meditation, 
With naught to harass 
or displease 
Or give me agitation, 
The fragrant wreaths 
that curling up, 
Make visions fair as 
fleeting, 

O comrades of the pipe 
and cup, 

Doth send thee hearty 
greeting. 




I 



HOW A VERSATILE YOUNG DOCTOR REPORTED 
A SOCIETY EVENT, 



HAD put in a weary day 
of it — and all because of 
my buddling- scientific 
enthusiasm. 


Small-pox nad ap- 
peared in Chicag'o, and 
the resultant scare had 
assumed quite formida- 
ble proportions — there 
were probably two 
hundred cases of the 
disease in the “pest- 
house ■ ’ and scattered 
throughout the city, be- 


sides, in all probability, a certain number of concealed cases 
in which the disease, for one reason or another, had not been 
reported to the health department. 

The health commissioners had organized a large corps 
of vaccinators, whose duty it was to go from house to house, 
and, by hook or crook, wheedle the occupants into submis- 
sion to vaccination. As there was a small salary connected 
wuth the position of vaccinator, it was quite attractive to med- 
ical students, for whom there was the additional attraction of 
masquerading as full-blown doctors for the time being. 

Being susceptible to the blandishments mentioned, as 
well as possessed of luxuriant professional and scientific 
ardor, I had joined the vaccinating army — hence my fatigue 
on the day in question. 

The doctor, noticing my condition, commented upon it, 
and, on learning the cause, rattled away in a rather desultory 


166 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


fashion on the general question of municipal, public and 
individual sanitation, in what seemed to me an instructive as 
well as interesting manner. 

“Universal vaccination is an excellent thing, even though 
it be tardily practiced. It is rather amusing to note the 
dilatoriness of the authorities, however. Small-pox is one 
of the least excusable of diseases — vaccination, properly 
practiced, is an almost certain preventive, and can always be 
relied upon to act as a life-saver by rendering the disease — 
if contracted despite vaccination — comparatively mild, yet 
we do not wake up until the contagion is in our very midst; 
then we fairly tumble over each other in our frantic haste 
to vaccinate or be vaccinated. 

“There are those who claim that vaccination is ineffect- 
ual and even reprehensible, but such persons have never 
taken the trouble to look into the statistics. Let one of these 
skeptics examine the records — say of the New York small- 
pox hospital — and note the relative proportion of cases of the 
disease among the vaccinated and the unvaccinated, and also 
the relative mortality rate of the two classes, and he will 
think more and say a great deal less — in antagonism to vac- 
cination, at least. 

“Such cranks are dangerous! Shall we undo the work 
of the immortal Jenner? Why, vaccination has done more 
for the human race than have the combined energies of all 
the anti-vaccination cranks that ever lived — it has saved lives 
without number, dollars beyond computation ! 

“Whenever a bad result occurs from vaccination, how- 
ever, it is immediately charged up to the system, and not to 
its method of application. Impotent or impure virus is 
plentiful — shall its failures or resulting accidents be attrib- 
uted to vaccination se? 

“I remember, for example, a large number of vaccina- 
tions performed some years ago upon immigrants in the City 
of New York. Hundreds and hundreds of subjects were 
vaccinated by rule of thumb, but not one vaccination in ten 
was successful! And why? Because the dishonesty of pub- 
lic officials drew not the line at endangering human life ! 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


167 


“The points were a ‘job-lot,’ that had probably never 
been within five miles of a heifer. Was Jenner’s theory at 
fault here? Is the public aware of the fact that the officials 
of the health departments and charitable institutions in some 
of our g-reat cities, have been known to trade upon human 
suffering- and jeopardize human lives by deliberate swindling- 
in the quantity and quality of drug-s and medical sup- 
plies? 

“Yea, yea — even so! 

“Horrible! is it not? Oh, I could a tale unfold! 

“Another point reg-arding- the vaccination question: Just 
let a scrofulous, syphilitic, debilitated or scandalously dirty 
young--one develop some morbid condition of the vaccination 
sore, due to vile blood or some secondary infection, and the 
trouble is immediately laid at the door of the doctor and his 
horrible virus. Vaccination sometimes betrays family 
secrets in hig-h places — the ranks of the anti-vaccinationists 
are full of such victims of their own blood taints. 

“There are some features of small-pox and cholera scares 
that amuse me g-reatly. Typhoid fever kills more people 
every year, right here in the city of Chicago, than ever died 
during a cholera epidemic in any city in this country. It has 
destroyed many more lives in this city during the past year 
than small-pox has during the past twenty years, yet we do 
not observe any particular agitation about it. Typhoid fever 
is a moderately preventable disease, yet even in the face of 
its immense mortality rate, the municipality by no means 
excites itself over means of prevention. As for the dear 
public — why, it is hard to get people to boil their drinking 
water or even keep themselves clean! 

“Small-pox! Cholera! Humph! — Measles and scarlet 
fever double-discount them in average frequency and mor- 
tality, yet there’s no particular excitement about these latter 
diseases! 

“Regarding contagious diseases, I wonder how long it 
will be before the authorities take steps to prevent the 
infection of the living by the dead. There should be a public 
crematory, at which the bodies of all persons dying of con- 
tagious affections might be destroyed. This should be com- 


168 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


pulsory — the health department officially taking charge of 
every case as soon as death occurs. 

“Inhumation is illogical, expensive, and disgusting in all 
cases. Aside from the opportunity of vulgar display, land- 
scape gardening, mortuary sculpture, and beer and pretzels, 
‘when the hearse comes back,’ there is nothing to commend it. 

“Let us cremate the bodies of persons dead of infectious 
diseases, at any rate, and if we must cater to sentimentality, 
let us adopt the mausoleum method and emulate the ancient 
Egyptians — it can be done. 

“What was it Charles Dickens wrote of the pump at the 
corner of St. Paul’s? Oh, I remember! He said that the 
old pump ‘squeaked and moaned as though the dead buried 
there,objected to being pumped up and used over again.’ 

“If every dead man could suffer the fate of Roger 
Williams and be taken up by the roots of an apple tree, that 
his descendants might eat him fresh from the boughs, or in the 
less romantic but none the less succulent pie, I would not 
quarrel with inhumation, or at least, might see some utility 
in it, if nothing more. 

“ Young man, a cemetery is a blot on the face of nature, 
and a slur on the intelligence of humanity — away with it! 

“ Speaking of public sanitation, I would be glad to know 
the relative mortality rate of alcoholic indulgence and epi- 
demics of contagious diseases. I fancy a comparison would 
be interesting. Germs have slain their thousands — King 
Alcohol, his tens of thousands. 

“Fellow-citizens, statesmen, honest politicians — have 
you ever tried to put down the liquor habit? The liquor — 
yea, the habit — nay! You have surrounded the enemy, yet 
verily you are his! 

“The punch? Why, my boy, I told you it was mild — 
besides, it’s an occasional recreation, not a habit. I must 
again remind you that doctors are the guide-posts on the 
road of life ; they point out the way most steadfastly, but 
some of them — well, they don’t travel much themselves. 

“ It would really be too bad if the profession did not have 
a little liberty — fortunately its monotony can be varied if one 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


169 


be broad-g-aug-e and not built like a jack-rabbit, —which, as the 
old darky said, is a ’sorter narrer g’aug-e mule.” 

‘‘Yes, my boy,” said the doctor, leaning back in his com- 
fortable easy chair, and gazing reflectively into the filmy 
wreaths of smoke that arose from his faithful companion — 
the oriental hookah, “a doctor’s life is a good deal of a grind, 
but, after all, it is not all treadmill — there are lights and 
shades of both humor and sentiment, that not only relieve its 
monotony but serve as pleasant reminiscences. 

“ Will I tell you some more of my experiences? Well — 
I hardly feel that I am always capable of interesting you. We 
old doctors are a bit stuffy in our upper stories, and you, who 
are yet a student, might not appreciate some of my pet 
yarns, and I really couldn’t stand that, you know. However, 
you are a versatile sort of fellow, and possibly may be able 
to adapt your bump of appreciation to my crude attempts at 
story telling.” 

The doctor tapped the bell at his elbow as he spoke, and 
having ordered a glass of eloquence for himself and — well, 
an anaesthetic for me, settled down in his chair, and, with a 
suspicious twinkle in his eye, began unreeling himself: 

“You see, my young friend, there are several ways of 
telling a story. There’s Chauncey Depew, for instance. 
Why, that man has achieved world-wide fame as a raconteur^ 
yet I venture to say that he never told an original yarn in his 
life. He is a walking, living, eloquent phonograph — with a 
parrot attachment. Why, he actually had the cheek to tell 
some big-wig or other over in Europe, a lot of old chestnuts 
from Joe Miller, as samples of American humor. He even 
went so far as to tell him that over-done yarn about the rail- 
road conductor down in Indiana, who, at a certain point in 
the road, calls out, ‘ Kokomo ! Thirty minutes for divorce ! ’ 

“But Chauncey is our idol nevertheless, and I cannot 
hope to rival him, tho’ my stories are mostly fresh — some of 
them more so — and many of them so new that the price tags 
have not yet been removed. 

“Speaking of versatility, my boy, I believe that the doc- 
tor, above all men, should possess it in plenty. Verily I say 


170 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 



unto you; g-et versatility, but remember that ig'norance is 
bliss when thy professional rivals promulgate their opinions 
of you. Versatility is a veritable goddess of comfort, to the 
weary scholar and the plodding practitioner. The versatile 

man is never at a 
loss for recreation 
nor is he often non- 
plussed in an emer- 
gency. And yet, ver- 
satility may get one 
into trouble 
— it has even 
been known 
to be at- 
tended by 
fatal re- 
sults. 


A BRIGHT FUTURE. 


“Apropos of this theme, I’ll tell you the story of the sad 
fate of one of my friends, whom we will call Doctor Smith — 
because that was not his name. I will not say more in des- 
cription, lest I make the same faux fas as did the old country 
clergyman, who called out in the midst of his sermon: Hf 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


171 


that red-headed girl in the gallery doesn’t keep still, I’ll point 
her out to the congregation!’ 

“ Smith was one of the most promising young men I have 
ever met — I have several of his promissory notes in my safe 
now. He began life under very favorable auspices. It was 
often said of him: ‘He has a bright future.’ As time went 
on, however, he found that his future was like that of a cer- 
tain editor who lay dying, after some years of futile endeavor 
to live on the pumpkins and cordwood that he received in 
lieu of cash subscriptions. ‘Cheer up, my dear friend,’ said 
his kind clergyman to him; ‘you have a bright future.’ ‘Yes, 
I know,’ replied the dying man, ‘that’s just what troubles 
me — I can see it blazing now!’ 

“Practice came slowly to our young friend, and fees 
were not as thick as flies and cobwebs in his office. One 
evening as he sat, Micawber-like, waiting for something to 
turn up besides the noses of his fellow citizens, he was startled 
by the sudden entrance of a gentleman friend, who in his 
lucid intervals ofliciated as the sporting reporter of a daily 
paper, his moments of inebriety being devoted to society 
news. 

“ ‘Say, Doc,’ he cried, ‘I have a very sick patient for you 
a little outside of town, and I want you to come at once, as we 
must take the train in twenty minutes ! ’ 

“Promptness was young Smith’s specialty, and it is 
needless to say that they were soon aboard the train. 

“The doctor made little inquiry as to the nature of the 
case, for like all young practitioners he was capable of 
tackling anything. You see, young man, it is the young doc- 
tor, not the ‘ green Christmas,’ that ‘makes a fat graveyard.’ 
Oh, well !— don’t be annoyed, I was a youngster once my- 
self. 

“You know, my boy, there are none so confident as those 
who have had few opportunities to make mistakes. All young 
doctors are supplied with an abundance of self-assurance— 
this is as it should be, and is a conservative effort of nature 
to compensate the young practitioner for his superabundance 
of hair and deficiency of whiskers. Young Smith had more 
than the average amount of self-assurance, and whenever he 


172 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


was called to attend a new case he was prepared for all pos- 
sible emergencies — his satchel was supplied with all the 
implements necessary in the performance of any operation 
ever heard of. 

“Fortunately for the average young doctor, he is rarely 
subjected to the criticism of an expert tribunal — the public 
is not a competent critic, though it may assume to be, and 
the recent graduate is safe in assuming the same position as 
did a certain darky down in Virginia: 

“The southern negro is passionately fond of hanging 
about court rooms and picking up legal phrases — the big 
words and squabbling of the lawyers are meat and drink to 
him, unless he happens to be on trial himself, in which event 
he is a badly frightened individual indeed, and can see no 
features of attraction about matters of law. 

“A police court or the ‘hustings’ court of a southern 
city during a criminal trial, are especially fascinating to the 
colored population, and during the progress of such cases a 
stranger would conclude that the negroes have no particular 
occupation — the colored population fairly over-run the court 
room. 

“An old darky was arrested on some trifling charge, and 
brought before a police judge in a certain Virginia town. 
The officers who had arrested the old fellow, finished their 
testimony and the judge said — 

“ ‘ Well, my colored friend, have you counsel?’ 

“‘Has I got whut, sah?’ asked the negro in some be- 
wilderment. 

“ ‘ Why, have you a lawyer?’ 

“ ‘ No sah, I ain’ got no lawyer, sah.’ 

“ ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’ 

“‘I ain’ got nufi&n ’tall ter say, sah — jes’ nufiin ’tall, 
’cep’n’ ter jes’ thow masef on de ignunce o’ de cote, sah.’ 

“The judge was an old-timer, and appreciating the fact 
that the clemency and ignorance of some courts were quite 
liable to be confused even by an intelligent white man, to say 
nothing of a poor, unlettered negro, promptly discharged the 
prisoner. 

“ But to return to our young friend : 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


173 


“ The first thing- our doctor noticed on entering the 
car, was that it was filled with a motley crowd of men who 
seemed to be out for a lark — possessing all the careless aban- 
don of a Sunday school picnic. At the doctor’s suggestion 
another car was tried, with a similar result. It soon trans- 
pired that the entire train was made up of smokers — not a 
woman was in sight. The passengers appeared to be well 
prepared for emergencies, and whisky flowed like the lan- 
guage in a college announcement. The result was a degree 
of hilarity that would have put a menagerie to the blush. 
The doctor had never heard such a racket since those hal- 
cyon days when he and his fellow students used to break up 
the furniture and ‘pass ’em up’ between lectures. There 
were upon an average, about six free-for-all fights to the 
minute ! 

“Being of a sensitive, modest, retiring disposition, our 
young friend was a bit flustrated by the dizzy whirl into 
which he had been thrown, but the sporting reporter reas- 
sured him by explaining that the majority of the passengers 
were ‘respectable gentlemen from the Board of Trade — good 
fellows, you know, but a trifle gay.’ 

“This apology worked well until a well-known politician 
and gambler — since deceased, through the kindly offices of 
one ‘Bad Jimmy’ and his little pistol — mounted a car seat 
and proceeded to make a ‘ book ’ on a prize fight. 

“Our medical innocent now smelled a rodent as large as 
an elephant, and inquired into the wherefore of the which. 
The reportorial rascal then confessed that the picnickers 
were on their way to Indiana, to settle a point of pugilistic 
honor between one ‘Billy Fitzgibbons’ and one ‘Clinky Mul- 
rooney.’ He further said that ‘being compelled (!) to take in 
the affair as the representative of the Chicago Daily Buzzer^ 
and being subject to fits of heart disease, he desired to have 
his doctor with him.’ Knowing the doctor’s prejudices 
against sporting affairs, he had ‘taken the liberty,’ etc., etc. 

“ ‘Well,’ said the doctor, with a composure and resigna- 
tion that were somewhat suspicious; ‘I suppose I must 
submit. There appears to be at the present moment, no 
favorable opportunity of escaping from the somewhat uncon- 


174 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 



genial environment which now surrounds me, and I presume 
that it will be incumbent upon me to remain, and accompany 
your somewhat hilarious companions to that portion of the 
great commonwealth of Indiana selected for the impending 
display of physical prowess. As a boy, I was passionately 
fond of descriptions of the ancient Greek games. Those 
contests in which Greek indeed met Greek, and in which 
they caused severe contusions upon each other’s anatomy 


“IS THE CESTUS EVER USED NOWADAYS?’’ 

with the mighty cestus, were of especial interest to me. Tell 
me, is the cestus ever used nowadays?’ 

“The reporter fell over two seats, but finally revived 
enough to say, ‘ Naw, they don’t use the cestus nowadays, 

but-if-you-spring-any-more-of-that-high-falutin-lingo-on- 

this-crowd, you’re likely to get smitten on your jaw with a 
modern mitt loaded with lead ! See ? ’ 

“The doctor said he thought he comprehended, but I 
fancy that ‘ Chimmie Fadden ’ would have grasped the situa- 
tion a trifle better. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


175 


“The train finally drew up at a cattle-yard, just outside 
the sleepy little villag'e of Jayville, and the crowd tip-toed 
throug-h the mud and slush for about — well, the doctor 
claimed an hour later that he had waded fifteen miles. It 
was nearly midnig’ht when that disreputable mob arrived at 
an old barn, which had been selected for the little affair of 
‘honor.’ The necessary financial neg’otiations having* been 
made, the doctor and his evil spirit found themselves within 
the modern amphitheatre where deeds of mig'ht and blood 
were so soon to be performed. 

“I suppose I oug-ht to say something- about ‘ the startled 
bats,’ the ‘lowing kine,’ and ‘crowing chanticleer’ at this 
point, but I forbear — candour compels me to state that there 
were no domestic animals within hearing. With an eye to the 
fitness of things, the management had selected a barn that 
had most recently done service as a brewery on a small scale. 

“Our friends finally climbed on top of a suspicious look- 
ing barrel — a reserved seat, by the way — faced the ‘squared 
circle ’ and awaited the coming of the aspirants for laurels 
— and dollars. Description is always fatiguing to me, so I 
will simply say that the over-trained, underfed, and micro- 
cephalic gentlemen, finally faced each other and began the 
tedious game of tag that is called pugilism — ‘ Whose science it 
is to teach, the art of keeping quite out of reach.’ Being 
renowned experts, their success in keeping out of harm’s 
way was phenomenal. But the lamb-like game was not to go 
on without interruption : 

“Just as the crowd had begun to wonder if either of the 
contestants would ever appreciate that he was not alone 
within the squared circle, and what was more important, 
demonstrate a desire to give them the worth of their admission 
fee, there was a great commotion at the door leading in to the 
alleged gladiatorial amphitheatre, with a still greater com- 
motion upon the stairway leading up to it. 

“ ‘ Stan’ back thar ! — in ther name of ther State of Injiany !’ 
cried a stentorian voice. 

“Being possessed of a due and proper appreciation of 
the potency of the aforesaid state, the awe-stricken crowd 
obediently fell back, and gave entrance to a gentleman who 


176 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


vociferously announced himself as ‘ ther sheriff of this ’ere 
county !’ 

“Such a looking individual probably never upheld the 
dignity of any commonwealth ! My powers of portrayal of 
the grotesque are incapable of doing that wonderful apparition 
full justice. He was a tall, lank, lean, sharp-visaged, long- 
haired Hoosier. The most conspicuous portion of his 
raiment was a pair of heavy cow-hide boots, into which his- 
pants were tucked in uniformly hideous folds. His hat had 
evidently been surreptitiously filched from some convenient 
scare-crow on the way to the scene of the pugilistic encounter. 
Upon his manly breast, which was covered only by a hickory 
shirt, cold as the weather was, he wore the badge of his office 
— a star of as much greater magnitude than that of the 
Chicago policeman as is Jupiter compared with the earth. I 
do not know the material of which the star was composed, 
but it certainly must have been made of American tin — tariff 
off — because nothing else could have stood the incidental 
financial pressure, unless the wearer was a millionaire or the 
county extremely generous. In one hand he held a large 
yellow ‘ billy ’ — evidently a piece of solder covered with 
chamois leather — that resembled nothing so much as a ripe, 
golden ear of corn ! In the other hand he flourished a six- 
shooter which must have seen service in the early Indian 
wars, and before which the crowd instinctively shrank in 
dread of its ‘git thar ’ spontaneously, possibilities! 

“Stepping onto the platform upon which the pugilistic 
heroes were pirouetting, our majestic dispenser of the law 
said, in a voice like a fog-horn, ‘In ther name of ther common- 
wealth of Injiany, I order this ’ere prize fightin’ ter quit!’ 

“In view of the facts in evidence up to the time our gal- 
lant sheriff broke into the arena, there was no particular 
difficulty in convincing the gentleman that no fighting was. 
going on within his jurisdiction. A roll of bills mysteriously 
changed hands, and the chief supporting pillar of the dignity, 
grandeur, and law of the sta-te of Indiana disappeared. 
Within a quarter of an hour, however, he returned, and in a 
condition which plainly demonstrated that he had made ex- 
cellent use both of his time, and the ‘arguments’ that had 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


177 


been advanced to induce him to keep out of the hall. He 
went through the same performance as before, with a similar 
result — another roll of bills changing hands. 

“The alleged battle proceeded, but in about twenty 
minutes the audience was again electrified by the entrance 
of the distinguished representative of the commonwealth of 
Indiana. He was ‘ loaded ’ this time sure enough, and the 
way the crowd got away from his somewhat erratic gun, and 
dodged the wild flourishes of that queer-looking yellow club, 
was a caution! Mounting the platform again — although how 
he did it was a mystery — he wobbled to its center and said : 
‘Shentlemen, in ther name of ther — hie! — commonwealth of 
Injiany — hie! — I order this ’ere prize fightin’ ter quit!’ 

“This was the last straw of aggravation that broke the 
back of the pugilistic camel. A big ‘shoulder-hitter ’ grabbed 
the State of Indiana, dignity, pistol, billy and all, and with a 
‘Catch him, boys!’ threw him clear over the ropes! ‘Pass 
him along!’ cried somebody in the crowd, and he was passed 
along — the gun flying one way, the club another, and the State 
of Indiana whirling in four directions at once. Bumpety- 
bumpety-bump! down the stairs he went, and it was not 
until he was heard to strike ‘ker-chunk!’ at the bottom, 
that the crowd felt satisfied — as evidenced by the universal 
sigh of relief and contentment that pervaded the assemblage. 

“Just at this juncture, our reportorial friend — who had 
meanwhile acquired a comfortable degree of imbecility, 
through the medium of a bottle that he had on his person and 
sundry drinks he had borrowed from the gentlemen standing 
by — turned to Doctor Smith and said, ‘Scuze me. Doc, but 
would zyou mine ‘portin’ — hie! — zer resh of zis fight, while I 
go an’ shee about m’ fren’ zhat fell downz shtairz?’ 

“The doctor protested, said he was ‘inexperienced, too • 
modest,’ and all that sort of thing, but he was finally com- 
pelled to accept the reportorial assignment tendered him, to 
avoid becoming decidedly conspicuous through the turbulence 
of his newspaper friend. On asking for instructions as to 
the proper method of reporting prize fights, the reporter said 
to him, ‘ Put her in y’own perfesh’nal language, Doc — hie! 
Put in all zer — hie! — shientific points.’ 



UPHOLDING THE DIGNITY OF THE COMMONWEALTH. 


the dig^nity of the State of Indiana back into the village, 
\vhere he succeeded in making that gentleman’s acquaintance. 
This being accomplished, he suggested a game of draw poker, 
and, drunk as he was, fleeced the guileless sheriff out of what 


178 OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Having thus made the subject as muddled as possible 
for our doctor friend, the reporter disappeared, and did not 
turn up again until the following morning — at the termination 
of the alleged combat. 

“ On inquiry, the 
" doctor found that the 
reporter had followed 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


179 


money he had left from the ‘ arguments ’ advanced to him by 
the sports in charge of the festive scene he had so precipi- 
tately left. Having reduced the State of Indiana to penury 
and want, our reportorial scamp generously purchased a keg 
of beer, and planted the sheriff and a few of his boon com- 
panions at a safe distance beside the railroad track, to discuss 
the amber fluid, and incidentally, confer upon the best ways 
and means of upholding the somewhat ruffled dignity of the 
busted’ commonwealth. 

“ It would be unfair to my lamented friend Smith, to omit 
his classical description of that prize fight, and the story 
would certainly lose its point, did I not repeat the translation 
of his notes as they appeared in The Chicago Daily Buzzer 
the next evening. Having been instructed to give an accurate 
and scientific report of the fight, round by round, our amateur 
reporter made use of his professional knowledge and applied 
the term ‘scientific’ as seemed most logical and convenient 
to himself. The result was as follows. His power of lucid 
description and chastely beautiful style are at once evident; 

“‘the athletes of ancient GREECE OUTDONe! 

“ ‘An Aesthetic and Beautiful Exhibition of Modern 
Gladiatorial Prowess! The Glory and Grandeur of Physical 
Man, upheld by Modern Personifications of Manly Grace 
and Beauty ! — 

“‘Mr William Fitzgibbons of Chicago, practically anni- 
hilates and unquestionably routs the Honorable Clinky Mul- 
rooney of St. Louis, in forty-seven somewhat hemorrhagic 
but strikingly elegant Delsartian periods — known in the 
language of the vulgar as “ rounds ! ” — 

“‘(N. B. — The ring being square and the management 
crooked, I cannot understand, from my medical studies at 
least, why these intermittent, regularly periodic attacks with 
intervals of rest should be called “ rounds.”) 

“‘It is necessary to state that the terpsichorean gyra- 
tions of the gentlemen designated as “rounds,” consumed a 
space of time of approximately three minutes’ duration, while 
the intervals of quietude and repose would probably represent 
about two-thirds the same amount of time. 


180 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“‘I believe I am justified in stating that the swellest 
event of the season in the fashionable circles of Indiana 
society — I presume that in accordance with the vernacular of 
the day, I should not say “society circles,” but “society 
rings” — took place at Jayville this evening. 

“ ‘The Honorable William Fitzgibbons and the Honorable 
Clinky Mulrooney, of Chicago and St. Louis respectively, the 
champion heavy-weights of the gladiatorial disciples of 
Terpsichore, strove for physical supremacy for forty-seven 
consecutive periods of pugilistic time, the sum total of which 
represented two hours and forty minutes of the most 
unwearying attention to the minutest details of the various 
methods of escaping the slightest contact with each other, 
which could be designated by even the most aesthetic and 
sensitive individual as being in the slightest degree rude. 

“ ‘ Mr. Fitzgibbons, it pains me to say, suffered a severe 
laceration of the right auricular appendage, which resulted 
in the almost complete destruction of that highly ornamental 
and more or less useful organ. He also received, by some 
unfortunate accident, certain contusions in the vicinity of his 
orbits, that resulted in more or less ecchymosis and oedema, 
with a consequent narrowing of the palpebral fissures which 
seriously interfered for the moment with his visual perception. 

“ ‘ Mr. Mulrooney received, I regret to say, a compound 
comminuted fracture of the left side of his inferior maxilla, 
and, through the indiscretion of surreptitiously introducing 
his left thumb into the oral cavity of his associate in the 
gladiatorial contest, without considering the masticatory 
capacity of the latter, he lost that somewhat useful digit. 

“ ‘It would be too miich of a trial of the patience of the 
readers of this excellent paper, to even attempt a minute 
description of this most beautiful and aesthetic exhibition of 
terpsichorean and gladiatorial proclivities, period by period, 
during the progress of the struggle. My report, how- 
ever, embraces as fully as is necessary, all the essential 
features of this interesting event. I will state, however, that 
the hero of the occasion seemed for some reason, unknown to 
me, to be Mr. Mulrooney, who, it was claimed, won the 
contest on what a gentleman whom they called the “referee” 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


181 


desig’nated a “fowl,” althoug-h why it should be so termed I 
do not know, as there was nothing' sug'g'estive of any form of 
feathered creature, so far as I could observe, throug-hout the 
entire ceremony. On reflection, however, I do recall the fact 
that during" one of his particularly g'raceful g'yrations, in 
which he fairly flew at his colleag-ue, one of Mr. Fitzg-ibbons’s 
friends exclaimed, “Oh! ain’t Fitzy a bird?”— What justified 
this somewhat remarkable observation I cannot say. It was 
certainly ung'rammatical, to say the least, and displayed a 
pitiful ig'noranceof both ornitholog'y and anthropolog'y. 

“ ‘It is necessary to state that Mr. Mulrooney, at the 
time the decision was rendered, was in a comatose condition, 
approximating- those states of suspension of cerebral activity 
so frequently seen as a result of commotio cerebri^ produced 
by violent traumatism of the cranium. 

“ ‘I beg- leave to state in conclusion, that a considerable 
interchang-e of currency and collateral of various kinds 
occurred at the close of the exhibition. It is stated that Mr. 
Fitzg-ibbons’s friends have not all returned home yet, because 
of the disag-reeable state of the hig-hways between Chicag^o 
and Indiana. This, however, I am not prepared to verify by 
actual observation.’ ” 

“Doctor Smith had just concluded his obituary of the 
late Mr. Mulrooney, when his good little devil the reporter 
returned — in a somewhat steadier condition than when he left 
his job in the doctor’s hands. He took the report, wobbled 
his eye over it, guessed it ‘would — hie! do,’ and then made a 
bee-line for the telegraph office to send in his ‘ stuff.’ 

“Well, the doctor got home all right, and as he reflected 
on the events of the previous night, his chest probably swelled 
with pride at the thought that he had at last written a con- 
tribution which would be accepted for publication — his 
literary ambition was at last to be gratified! We can only 
imagine with what frantic haste he must have bought and 
opened the paper for which his report had been written — 
The Daily Buzzer T 

“ Late that evening, one of Doctor Smith’s friends called 
at his office, and, finding the door of the consultation room 


182 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


open, entered. As he did so, he stumbled over the body of a 
man! Hastily striking- a lig-ht, he found to his consternation 
that it was poor Smith! 

“There he lay, stone dead, his eyes wide open, staring- 
with unspeakable, terrified despair at a new^spaper that was 
clenched tightly in his hand! His horror-stricken friend 
freed the paper from the stiffened fingers and glanced 
through it, but, not being a Sherlock Holmes, he saw nothing 
to explain the doctor’s sudden death. You, who have followed 
the story, would have better understood the situation, for 
there upon the first page, was the following translation, by 
the sporting editor, of the unfortunate doctor’s gladiatorial 
report: 


“ ‘ Bruising Battle at Jayville^ Indiana ! Mulrooney now 
the Cock of the Walk ! Forty-seven bloody rounds I 

(Special to The Chicago Daily Buzzer.) 

“ ‘The long expected mill between Billy Fitzgibbons and 
Clinky Mulrooney, for the heavy-weight championship, was 
pulled off in this razzle-dazzle town last night. The dispute 
was settled in forty-seven rounds — in two hours and forty 
minutes. It was a very swell affair. The swell points were 
good and plenty. Fitzy lost his right ear and had both eyes 
smashed shut. Clinky had his left thumb chewed off and his 
jaw busted. The scrap was won by Clinky on a foul, in the 
forty-seventh round. By rounds the fight was as follows : 

“ ‘ First round : Clinky landed on Fitzy ’s jaw ; got a hot 
one on the paunch in return! — Fitzy finally tapped Clinky ’s 
tank! — First blood for Fitzy! 

“‘Second round: Both men pumping wind; Clinky a 
little the freshest! — Fitzy led for Clinky ’s bread-basket and 
was cross-countered on the short ribs ! — Clinky got a hot one 
on his right listener in return! 

“‘Third round: Clinky led a straight left for Fitzy ’s 
right lamp, but fell short and landed on his hash foundry ! — 
Fitzy a little groggy, but still in the ring! — Great excitement 
among the Fitzy push ! 

“‘Fourth round: Clinky ’s right found Fitzy ’s left 
peeper, and landed beautifully, closing the optic ! — Fitzy got 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


183 


Clinky’s thumb in his mouth and chewed it off! — Foul claimed 
but not allowed! (N. B. — Everything- g-oes in Indiana!) 

Fifth round : Both men sparring- for wind. — Audience 
shouting-, “Play ball!” 





COUNTING THE TIES WITH 
THE “FITZY PUSH.’’ 

“‘From this round 
to the forty-seventh, 
little fig-hting- was done 
— to the disg-ust of the 
talent. In the last round 
the men clinched and 
fell, with Clinkyon top! 
— Fitzy had ten ribs broken but was dead g-ame, and as soon 
as he g-ot loose, kicked Clinky in the jaw and broke it! — A 
foul was claimed for Clinky and allowed. 

“‘The bruised and battered hero received the plaudits 
of the larg-e and fashionable g-athering-, with becoming* 


184 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


modesty. (He was insensible by the way.) Quite a jag* of 
the “long- green,” changed hands on the result. 

“ ‘ (N. B. — The push that came down with Fitzy, is now 
counting the ties toward Chicago!) 

“ ‘Among the dlite who were present were Doc Smith, 
Jim O’Farrell, Patsy Dillon, “Dirty Shirt” Jones, “ Get- 
there ” Eli, Duke Marlborough of England, and “ His Whisk- 
ers” McWhorter, of the Board of Trade!’ ” 


“Doctor Smith’s familiarity with the vernacular of the 
ring, was about equal to the knowledge of natural history 
possessed by a certain darky down South : 

“Absalom, a faithful old Virginia slave in the family of 
my friend Mr. Polk Miller, now of Richmond, accompanied 
his master to the war. At Yorktown, he saw, for the first 
time in his life, soft-shell crabs. Much to his surprise, he 
also saw the soldiers eating them. The old man went to his 
master and said: 

“ ‘Marse Kunn’l, whut in de name er Gawd is dese yeh 
white folks er eatin’?’ 

“ ‘ Why, those are crabs,’ said the Colonel, ‘and they are 
fine, too, haven’t you eaten any of them yet?’ 

“ ‘No ’ndeed sah, dat I aint! Dey done looks too much 
like craw-feesh an’ spidahs fo’ dis chile, an’ I ain’ gwine eat 
none o’ dem tings!’ 

“ ‘After he had been there a few days, however, seeing 
the crabs daily, and noticing that the most aristocratic gentle- 
men from his old neighborhood were eating and enjoying 
them, Absalom was induced to taste one. 

“The old fellow smacked his lips, saying, ‘Dis yeh ole 
crab is pintedly good ! ’ and finally wound up by eating half a 
dozen. 

“Having shown so much aversion to the crabs, and now 
being a convert, Absalom went to his master, but in a shame- 
faced manner, and said — 

“ ‘ Marse Kunn’l, I done et one o’ dem tings!’ 

“ ‘Well, how did you like it?’ 

“ ‘Well sah, ’twuz mos’ de bes’ ting dat ebbah I tasted!’ 

“ ‘ I told you so, you old fool!’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


185 



“ ‘ Well,sah, I didn’t hab no idee dey wuz so bery good, 
ontell I taste ’em. Look yeh, Marse Kunri’l, de sojers done 
tell me dat ef yo' ties er chicken leg on er string an’ drap it 
down inter de water, dem ole tings ’ll bite at it, and ef yo’ 


"‘HE DONE RETCH ROUN’ AN ’ BITE ME WID EBERY FOOT HE HAB ! ” 

doan’ need me fo’ a hour er two, I tink I’ll go down ter de 
ribbah an’ ketch some o’ dem ole fellers fo’ suppah! 

“ ‘All right, go ahead,’ replied the Colonel, ‘but look out 
and don’t let them bite you.’ 


186 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ No sah, dey doan bite dis nig'g’ah — he! he! I’se g'wine 
ter keep ma eye on he mouf !’ — and off to the river he went. 

“ In a few minutes the Colonel heard the old man crying-, 
‘Oh, lordy! Oh, lordy! Lemme g-o! Lemme g-o!’ and went out 
to see what had happened to him. 

“ ‘What on earth are you making- all this noise for, sir? ’ 

“ ‘ Dis yeh ole debble ting- done bite me, sah!’ 

“ ‘ Didn’t I. tell you to look out or they would bite you, you 
everlasting- old fool!’ 

“ ‘ Yaas, sah, I knows yo’ did, an’ I didn’ fo’g-it it, sah, but 
he didn’ bite me wid he mouf! I jes’ drapped de chicken leg-^ 
down in de water, an’ befo’ it done bin down dar er minute, dat 
ole ting done kotched holt of it. I drawed ’im out, an’ he done 
jump off o’ de chicken leg an’ started ter run back in de 
ribbah. I slap my foot on ’im an’ belt ’im down, an’ den I 
’zamined ’im close ter see whar’ he mouf wuz, an’ jes’ ez soon 
ez I see whar’ he mouf wuz, I retched down an’ picked ’im up 
in ma hands. F ust ting I knowed, fo’ Gawd, Marse Kunnel — 
he done retch roun’ an’ bite me wid ebery foot he hab!’ ” 


“By the way, my boy, do you know that I have come to 
the conclusion that the every-day experience of doctors in 
general practice, affords more comical situations and more 
exhibitions of the absurdities of human nature than that of 
any other class of men ? 

“I observed a very amusing illustration of this a short 
time since: 

“In a certain semi-tough district on the North Side, lives 
a well-known Irish politician, whom we will call Mike O’Fallon 
for short. O’Fallon was once as honest and industrious a 
young Irishman as you would care to meet, but politics has 
degenerated him in a marked degree. Among other effects 
of his recent election to an important office, has been a very 
aggravated case of ‘swelled-head,’ resulting in the acquire- 
ment of certain lofty ideals that the wife of his previously 
honest and faithful bosom did not quite fulfil. It was the 
old story, you know— dissatisfaction with the woman who did 
not grace what he considered an exalted station in life, 
whisky in large quantity, and brutal abuse of the woman he 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


187 


had sworn to cherish and protect. Being- his family physi- 
cian, I naturally became cog-nizant of these somewhat delicate 
matters. 

“Just around the corner from Mike’s residence, lives his 
mother-in-law — Mrs. McFadden — whose family physician I 
also have the honor to be. 

“It so happened that the old lady fell ill the other day, 
and I was sent for, in hot haste. I found her suffering- from 
an attack of acute dysentery, prescribed for her, and was 
about to leave, when my attention was attracted by a very 
excited conversation in the adjoining- kitchen that caused me 
to delay my departure. 

“ Mike, it seems, had been at his old tricks that morning-, 
and had g-iven Mrs. O’Fallon a terrible whipping-! Like all 
abused women she had fled to the safe harbor of her mother’s 
sheltering- wing- — which, poor thoug-h it was, she never should 
have left — poor g-irl! 

“ Pat McFadden, the young- woman’s brother, had come 
home full of bad whisky, found her at his mother’s house, 
made suitable inquiry and learned of the latest outrag-e upon 
his unfortunate sister. 

“Overcome by brotherly indig-nation and fired by the 
worst of Kinzie street ‘barrel house’ liquor, Pat was inspired 
by but one thoug-ht — reveng-e I 

“Bursting- into his mother’s sick chamber, he howled: 

“ ‘ Say, mother, that dom’d brute Moike, hez bin whuppin’ 
Mary ag-in, an’ be Jasus, Oi’m g-oin’ over there an’ bate the 
loife out o’ the doorty dog-! Oi’ll sthomp the liver out av him, 
that’s pfwat Oi’ll do! Oi’ll show ’im that he’ll not be afther 
lickin’ my sister !— the dom’d Oirish pup ! ’ 

“Stopping- just long- enoug-h to put on his coat, wrong-- 
side out, he tore out of the door, despite the efforts of the 
women folks to detain him. 

“Now, I was familiar with Mike O’Fallon’s reputation for 
physical prowess, and while I had heard very little of Pat’s 
ability as a fighter, I imagined I knew just about what was 
likelv to occur — if the lusty, irascible Mike happened to be 
in when his brother-in-law called on his ill-advised volunteer 
errand of family regulation. 


188 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


*‘As Mike’s home was only a short distance away, and I 
was pretty certain Pat would not be detained long-, I made an 
excuse to look at the old lady’s tong-ue and investig-ate her 
aches and pains ag-ain, sat down beside my patient with my 
fingers on her pulse, and — ^ waited. 

“As I anticipated, I didn’t have to wait long. A few 
minutes later there was a commotion at the back door, fol- 
lowed by a noise like a riot in the kitchen, and in came a 
couple of wild Irishmen, supporting the Honorable Pat Mc- 
Fadden — or the remnants thereof ! 

“Pat’s nose was broken, his eyes closed and his lip cut 
and bleeding! Upon his scalp was a wound that looked 
suspiciously boot-heel shaped ! His clothes were in tatters, 
and taken all-in-all he was the worst looking wreck I ever 
saw! 

“ ‘Oi say, Pat,’ said Mrs. McFadden, faintly — apparently 
not comprehending the pitiful spectacle. 

“ ‘ Yis, mother,’ mumbled the self-appointed family 
regulator. 

“ ‘ Did yez find him, me bye?’ 

“ ‘Faith, an’ Oi did that!’ said Pat, whose Irish wit had 
evidently returned to him — the visit to Mike having sobered 
him. 

“ ‘Sure, an’ was he at home, Pat?’ asked the old lady. 

“ ‘Was he at home, mother! Was — he — at — home! Jist 
luk at me, begorra, an’ tell me whither Moike was at home or 
was afther lavin’ a cyclone ter kape house fer him! Well — 
Oi — shud — shmoile! ’ 

“‘An’ pfwat did ye do to him, me bye?’ asked the 
mother, whose poor old eyes had evidently not yet appreciated 
the situation. 

“ ‘ Be Jasus, mother, Oi played fut ball wid ’im! ’ ” 

“ ‘Mike was indeed at home! — He had clubbed Pat over 
the head with a revolver, kicked him when he was down, 
thrown him down two flights of stairs and rolled him in the 
gutter, in the quickest time on record ! — Pat had played foot- 
ball with Mike, but he had enacted the role of ball to an un- 
comfortable extent! 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


189 


“ I patched Pat up as well as I could, but I am free to say 
that he was by no means a prize beauty when the job was 
done. He made no remarks, however, until I had finished, 
when he stagg'ered up to a looking--g-lass, pried his lids open 



“ AINT MOIKE A DAISY?” 


former self and said, enthusiastically — ‘Be Jasus, docthor! 
Aint — Moike — a — daisy ? ’ 

“Pat was evidently proud of his brother-in-law! ’Tis 
thus that family pride oft allays the pang's of ung'ratified 
personal ambition. — 

“I fear,my boy, that you may think me quite reckless in 
my story-telling". You know a fellow is liable to blaze away 


190 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


with his stories, shot-g-un fashion, very much as some of the 
citizens of my old California town used to mix in other people’s 
quarrels. 

“A row would start, usually in some saloon, and for 
a few minutes thing-s would be mighty lively — even for a 
mining town. The good citizen who happened by that way, 
would hear the row, stop long enough to locate it, go home 
after a shot gun, return to the door of the saloon, fire both 
barrels with their pint of buckshot into the crowd within, and 
— go happily on about his business, with a clear conscience ! 


“What, you’re not going! Good gracious! you young 
chaps seem to have no staying powers! Oh, a quiz in the 
morning, eh? Anatomy, did you say? For goodness’ sake, 
lad, hustle! You’ll come in again next week I hope — I want 
to say something real serious to you. Confound this hookah ! 
it’s as dead as a door-nail ! Guess I’ll go to bed myself, as I’m 
out of tobacco. 

“ ‘ Good night, my boy, and fair visions to you.” 


THE RHODOMONTADE OF A SOCIABLE SKULL 


I. 



VER their evening pipe, some 
good people find, 
Freedom from care, content.^ 
ment for the mind. 
Others, with troubled con^ 
science brought to book. 
Dream of devils, foul fiend 
or horrid spook. 

Whilst I, e’en tho’ the smoke 
my spirit lull. 

Spurn fancies sweet and — 
gossip with a skull. 




i 




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THE RHODOMONTADE OF A SOCIABLE SKULL 

I. 



jTANDING in an out-of-the- 
way corner of the doctor’s 
cosy library, was a large 
glass and mahogany cabinet, 
to curios and specimens of 
various kinds. 

Many of these treasures — for the 
doctor set great store by them — were by no 
means extraordinary fer se, but there was no 
article in the entire collection, that did not 
have an interesting history. 

I will not undertake to recite the many interesting things 
the doctor told me at various times, about those souvenirs of 
his experience and travels — time would not permit it, even 
though I could remember all he said — which is certainly 
doubtful. 

On one shelf were a number of queer-looking snakes and 
lizards, shining through the glass bottles in which they were 
confined like a lot of weird, unsavory, and disgusting pre- 
serves and pickles. In one corner of this shelf was a jar 
containing a huge, hairy tarantula — shrivelled, it is true, but 
still a very Goliath of his kind. The fuzzy-looking monster 
had been in pickle thirty-five years. As the doctor facetiously 
remarked, the alcohol in which that spider was pickled, was 
“the finest, oldest, andprimest ‘tarantula juice ’in America!” 

In the center of the shelf was a specimen of a Cyclops — an 
infantile monstrosity that had been born to fame — and death 


196 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


— and had escaped all those trials and tribulations which well- 
formed infants are pre-destined to underg’o. Like his 
mythical prototype, the little monster gazed out upon the 
world with a hideous leer — his single fishy orb appearing to 
search for victims, with dimly-lighted vision but malevolent 
fixity of purpose. But this miniature Cyclops had already met 



his doom; he needed not to await the coming of an Odysseus. 
Yet the impotent little wretch was monarch of all he sur- 
veyed — in that cabinet. The very semblance of humanity in 
which he masqueraded, made him ruler of the shelf whereon 
he stood. Unlike some potentates, he could justly claim that 
most of his subjects were with him “in spirit.” 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


197 


Upon one side of the cabinet was a “Monster of the 
Gila” — one of those disgusting reptiles of which so many 
horrible and blood-curdling stories are told for the edification 
of the uninitiated. Like many another demon, this speckled 
gentleman from the gloomy canons of the southwest country, 
is not so black as he is painted, but, nevertheless, the par- 
ticular specimen of the breed under consideration was not 
fair to gaze upon. He had an uncanny look of everlasting 
crawl about him, that gave one such eerie, creepy feelings up 
and down one’s spine! But the doctor said the beast was “a 
perfect beauty,” and I did not dispute him — our standards 
might have varied. 

Intermingled in repulsive profusion with the articles I 
have described, were some bottled pathological specimens, a 
disorderly array of geological relics, and an assortment of 
odd-looking sea shells ; here and there, could be seen the tar- 
nished outlines of some discarded surgical instrument. 

Above all this nerve-disturbing, emotion-stirring col- 
lection of curios and surgical dead lumber — no facetiousness 
intended — was another shelf on which stood a number of 
curious and ghastly-looking skulls — each with a history, 
pathological or romantic, or both. Skulls that told tales of 
mis-spent lives, skulls that betrayed the sins of parental life 
and taints of parental blood, skulls that showed — well, 
anything but good points and symmetry of conformation. 
These skulls were the doctor’s special pride, and it was posi- 
tively dangerous to allude to them — unless one were prepared 
to listen to a scientific disquisition as comprehensive as the 
Encyclopaedia Britannica. 

It seemed that the doctor’s collection of crania was just 
one too many for the cabinet — one had been crowded out and 
was holding an overflow meeting all by himself on the very 
top and outside of that receptacle. I had frequently observed 
this particular skull as it stood there, as it were, on a pinnacle 
of pride, flocking alone like Dundreary’s bird, far above his 
less fortunate — and less dusty — fellows. Many a time, while 
sitting in the doctor’s library, I had studied that grinning, 
staring mass of ossified egotism, and marveled at its strange 
form and rather impudent expression. I felt sure it had a 


198 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


history — for which of the doctor’s specimens had not? — and 
I had on several occasions been g-reatly tempted to ask the 
doctor about it. The opportunity of doing so finally came 
about in this way : 

I had been reading an account of a trial, in which the plea 
of insanity had been urged in defense of a man who had 
murdered, in cold blood, one of our most prominent citizens. 
There was some fanciful pretext of a grievance suffered by 
the assassin at the hands of his victim, which imaginary 
injury he had most cruelly and summarily avenged. The 
most careful investigation, however, failed to show any logical 
reason for the crime — any reason at least, that could be 
logically accepted by a person of sound mind as an excuse 
for the murder. The plea of insanity being advanced, 
“experts” were summoned upon each side, to testify as to 
the prisoner’s sanity at the time of the commission of the 
crime. 

It is probable that the average layman could not 
appreciate the serio-comic display presented by that trial. 
There were “experts” galore — scientific experts, hired 
experts, political experts, “job-lot ” experts, and omniscient 
experts — these latter preponderated — and other things too 
numerous to mention, but they hung the poor devil of a 
lunatic just the same. 

Some of the evidence advanced by the defense showed 
that unworthy arguments are sometimes brought to bear in 
behalf of a worthy cause — an attempt was made to prove the 
prisoner'' s insanity hy the irregular and 7nalformed developmeiit 
of his head and face^ and particularly his jaw. 

Now, I am only a student of medicine and almost neces- 
sarily a dilettante in such matters, but to my mind, this 
evidence, or abortive attempt at evidence, seemed absurd. I 
firmly believed, from what I knew of the crime and the testi- 
mony brought out at the trial, that the prisoner was insane — 
common sense, it seemed to me, should have dictated such a 
conclusion — but I must acknowledge that the peculiar and 
conflicting character of the evidence was very puzzling to me. 

I am sure it is not presumptuous on my part — although 
I do not pretend to understand the subject very thoroughly 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


199 


— to express the opinion that some of the expert testimony 
was a howling- farce. Take, for example, the testimony 
of one g-entleman, who endeavored to establish the prisoner’s 
insanity upon what he called “ stig-mata of deg-eneracy” 
as shown in aberrant development of the skull, and espe- 
cially of the jaw. Why, not only had that “expert” never 
treated a case of insanity, but he had never practiced medi- 
cine a day in his life! 

Well, I am but a senior student, and have much to learn, 
yet I doubt whether I shall ever acquire much faith in the 
intuitive “expertness ” of some dabblers in arts they cannot 
understand. 

If a novice mig-ht be permitted to offer a sug-g-estion, let 
us g-o back into scriptural history for our insanity experts. 
Let us subpoena, not Balaam — but his next friend. 

The absurdities of the testimony in the trial I have men- 
tioned, were still fresh in my mind when I called upon my 
friend Doctor Weymouth in the evening-, and knowing that 
he was interested in criminal anthropology, I determined to 
ask for some light upon the questions involved in the case 
that had excited my interest. I shall always be glad I 
followed this inclination, for it resulted in a most entertaining 
and amusing story from the doctor — who happened to be in 
excellent humor. 


“So, my young friend, you have become interested in 
that deplorable case. 

“I do not wonder you were disgusted and puzzled by 
some of the expert evidence in that trial. 

“I was not aware that so many insanity experts existed, 
as have been put upon the stand in that cause celebre. Really, 
there have been several ‘expert’ witnesses in the case whom 
I was compelled to look up in the medical directory, to ascer- 
tain where they were from. I have been gratified to learn 
that the mental health of this community is being cared for 
by so many scientific specialists. I was under the impres- 
sion that insanity and nervous diseases were rather difficult 
branches of medicine, but I see I was wrong— they must be 
simple, else why so popular as specialties? 


200 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“You are right, my boy— such testimony is absurd and 
brings true science into disrepute. The study of abnormal 
humanity as comprehended by the science of criminal 
anthropology, makes no such ridiculous claims as would be 
inferred from that testimony. The modern school of crimi- 
nal anthropology has accomplished much, but it does not 
claim to have established, 
as yet, any data that war- 
rant our making the stig- 
mata of degeneracy an 
important issue in mur- 
der trials. 

“But dabblers and 
pretenders infest every 
art and science, and we 
must console ourselves 
with the reflection that 
such persons by 
no means repre- 
sent scientific 
thought — they are 
experts in much 
the same fashion 
that a bull in a 
china shop is a 
judge of the wares 
contained therein. 

“ The worst 
feature of such 
notoriety- seeking 

fellows, is that “expert” in degeneracy. 

they drag ‘ star- 
eyed science’ in the mire and make it an object of ridicule 
and distrust. Even truth suffers when under suspicion. We 
should do nothing by which we may lose the confidence of 
those who are looking to us for light — the buzzard of quack- 
ery may foul its own nest, but the eagle of science, never! 

“The so-called science of phrenology, absurd as it is, 
was never half so ridiculous as the sham science that certain 



OVER THE HOOKAH. 


201 


camp followers in the field of criminal anthropology and the 
study of abnormal man, are endeavoring to set up. 

“Modern science holds, not that certain peculiarities of 
development necessarily indicate a particular type, or indeed, 
any type, of insanity or criminality, but that the criminal and 
the insane are characterized on the average, by aberrations of 
cranial development and certain other departures from the 
normal average standard, that we term stigmata of degener- 
acy — a wide distinction and a still wider difference. 

“ To be sure, there are extreme types of atypical cranial 
development that are associated with certain peculiar mental 
attributes, but not with sufficient frequency to form a basis 
for dogmatic expert evidence. 

“In speaking of this particular point, I recall that the 
head of Bichat, the celebrated anatomist, was so distorted 
that it looked as though two mis-fit halves of different skulls 
had been spliced together. The symmetrical head often 
encloses a vicious brain, while a crooked one may conceal either 
the mighty intellect of a philosopher or the morals of a saint. 

“I do not deny that there is something suggestive in 
cranial conformation — we hope there may yet be more — but 
it is best to be very conservative in our judgment upon this 
point. Lombroso and his school have taught us much, but 
let us not claim more than our masters. Science sometimes 
has need to cry, ‘Save, oh save me from my friends!”’ 

“Oh, ho! my young diplomatist— you have been leading 
up to the consideration of that particular skull, have you ? I 
was wondering why you were gazing at it so curiously. Yes, 
it is indeed a queer-looking specimen. 

“ Will I give you its history ? 

“ Well, now, young man, that is a subject on which I am a 
little sensitive. That skull has a history, and a very queer 
one, but I have never told it to anyone. I hesitate to tell it, 
even to you, for, although I like fun as well as most men, I do 
not like to run the risk of being ridiculed.— 

“ Well, your persistency is commendable, to say the least 
I suppose you will not be content unless I tell you the story, 
so I may as well surrender at once. 


202 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“I am g'oing* to relate something- that may strike you 
as rather sing-ular — the autobiog-raphy of a skull. I, myself, 
have never heard of another, and I propose to g-ive it to you as 
circumstantially as I received it — or as nearly so as my mem- 
ory will permit. 

“About ten years ago, it was my fortune to be serving 
on the staff of one of our public hospitals. The patients in 
the institution were drawn from all walks in life — the pauper- 
ized aristocrat and the pauper who was to the manner born, 
met there on common ground — often to come together later 
on still commoner ground in the Potter’s field. 

“Among our charges we very often had a number of 
sailors — those rollicking, rough-and-ready, improvident fel- 
lows, that form a class as distinct from the rest of mankind 
as does the soldier — the sailor’s frater in the struggle of 
existence. 

“I was always greatly interested in the sailor boys, the 
more especially as there were many among them who had 
sailed old ocean, long before they became fresh water tars. 
Such men, when intelligent, are always very entertaining. 

“During the severe winter that prevailed in 18 our 

supply of sailors was unusually large, and several of them 
proved to be men who had travelled widely and gathered much 
information by the wayside. I spent many a pleasant half- 
hour in profitable conversation with them. 

“By far the brightest of these sick, but still jolly tars, 
was a queer old Englishman who had seen long and hard 
service at sea. He had served in Her Majesty’s navy and 
also in the Confederate navy during the late war. During 
the interim between his naval services, he had been an ‘able- 
bodied seaman’ in the Pacific mail service, his last experience 
having been on a vessel plying between San Francisco and 
Canton, China. 

“ The old man had been induced to leave the salt water, 
and, as he expressed it, had turned ‘land-lubber’ on a modest 
competence. He had withstood the sharks of the Pacific, but 
the land sharks were too much for him, and, having lost his 
modest little hoard, he had entered the service of one of our 
lake transportation companies.” 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


203 


“John York, A. B., as he sig-ned himself, became very 
much attached to me, and when he left the hospital expressed 
his gratitude and devotion as only an honest sailor can. 

“ ‘ Doctor,’ he said, ‘ ye’ve been very kind to th’ old man, 
an’ he’ll not forgit ye, sir. If ye don’t mind, I wants to give 
ye a present. I’ve got somethin’ what I brung from China, 
that I’ve been carryin’ ’round a good many years, an’ I’m goin’ 
to give it to you, coz I know ye’ll appreciate it. Would ye 
mindtellin’ me where I can find ye, sir?’ 

“ Thinking to humor the old fellow, and without the 
faintest idea that I should ever see him again, outside of the 
hospital, I gave him my residence address. 

“A few evenings later, there was a ring at my door-bell, 
and immediately thereafter. Bob, my black servant, came 
into the library, rolling his eyes until they looked like 
animated white marbles, and informed me that a suspicious- 
looking old man with a bundle wished to see me at the 
door. 

“Much to my surprise, I found that the doubtful char- 
acter was my old sailor man, but I did not recall, for the 
moment, the promise to which I was indebted for the honor 
of his visit. 

“I ushered the old fellow into the library, where he 
deposited his evidently precious bundle upon my study 
table. 

“’Axin’ yer pardon, sir,’ said he, ‘d’ye remember the 
promise I made ye when I left the ’orspital?’ 

“ ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘I do, now that you remind me of it, 
but I confess it had slipped my mind — indeed, I had not 
thought of it since.’ 

“ ‘Well,’ he said, with, I fancied, something of an injured 
air, ‘I didn’t forgit it, sir, an’ here it is,’ laying his hand on 
the mysterious package as he spoke. 

“ I looked at the round, paper-wrapped bundle, with some 
curiosity. 

“ ‘What is it?’ I asked. 

“ ‘It’s a head, sir,’ he replied, ‘an’ a right queer one.’ 

“ ‘A head!’ I exclaimed, ‘what do you mean— the head of 
a human being?’ 


204 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ Jesso, sir. It’s not a fresh one’ — and he grinned widely 
— ‘it’s real old, but it’s worth its weight in gold, an’ I wouldn’t 
give it to nobody else, sir.’ 

“While he was speaking, he carefully unwrapped the 
bundle and disclosed a coarse gunny sack, from which he 
extracted the most remarkable-looking object I had ever 
seen — the mummified head of a man! 

“ The head was indeed a curio. It had been dried in the 
sun with the skin and flesh still upon it. The cranium was 
still surmounted by a mass of black, curly hair. The lips 
were retracted, and tightly, weirdly drawn over a set of time- 
stained but perfectly formed teeth, making a most perfect 
sneer of disdain — an expression of frozen contempt that 
was absolutely startling! 

“But the most peculiar and striking feature of the head, 
was the dome-like shape of the cranium. It towered up like a 
huge sugar loaf, showing a vertical expanse of forehead that 
suggested the existence of a most gigantic intellect in times 
past. You may verify the accuracy of my description by 
inspecting the skull itself. 

“ ‘Well, John,’ I said, ‘you are very kind, I am sure, but 
it is fortunate that you gave your present to one who is not 
nervous. The sight of that thing would frighten the average 
man into an epileptic fit. Where on earth did you get it?’ 

“‘I brung it with me from China, sir, an’ to tell the 
truth, I stole it out o’ one o’ them heathen temples over there. 

I took it jes’ for a lark, an’ after I got it, I didn’t know what 
to do with it. I didn’t dare try to put it back agin, so I jes’ 
kep’it.’ 

“‘Why did you not throw it overboard, when you got 
aboard your vessel again ? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘Because,’ he replied, ‘I afterwards found out that the 
head was a wonderful thing, sir.’ 

“ ‘Wonderful?’— ‘In what way, John?’ 

“ ‘ Why, sir, that head is one o’ them talkin’ heads that 
the Chinese priests keep for the’r religious mummeries!’ he 
answered. 

“I could not help laughing at the poor old man — he was 
so thoroughly in earnest. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


205 


“ ‘Now, see here, my friend,’ I said, ‘it will never do to 
have that chap around here. He’ll create a disturbance, and 
perhaps g-et to making- love to the cook ! ’ 



SOME OF “THEM TALKIN’ HEADS.” 

“The old man took this bit of facetiousness on my part, 
in all seriousness. 


206 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“‘Oh no, sir! He’ll not trouble ye a bit. Ye don’t need 
to tell nobody else how to make him talk, an’ ye needn’t have 
him talk to you^ only when ye wants to ! ’ 

“‘Ah! — so there’s a key necessary to unlock his 
tong-ue, eh?’ 

“ ‘Not ’zackly a key, sir, but ye’ve g'ot to use a sort o’ 
paste like, that they make over in India. There’s where the 
Chinese priests g-et it from.’ 

“ ‘ Well, then,’ I said, ‘ I suppose I will have to forego the 
pleasure of a conversation with our distinguished friend, until 
I can get over to India.’ 

“ ‘Not much,’ replied the old sailor, ‘I’ve got a hull box 
of it for ye,’ and he handed me a small, round, curiously 
carved wooden box, covered with queer-looking figures and 
hieroglyphics. 

“On opening it, I found that it contained an oily, green- 
ish-golden substance, of a pasty consistency and a pungent, 
not unpleasant odor, that quickly filled the entire apartment 
and lingered about for days afterward. 

“ The affair was really growing quite interesting. — 

“ ‘ Do you happen to know how to use this stuff, John ?’ I 
asked. 

“Oh yes, sir, I found out all that over in Canton. When- 
ever ye wants the thing to talk, ye jest rolls up two little 
pills o’ the paste about as big as a pea, an’ ye puts one of ’em 
inter the mouth of the head, an’ — ’ 

“ ‘ What shall I do with the other?’ 

“ ‘Well, as I was goin’ to say, ye swallers the other yerself.’ 

“‘But / can talk at any time,’ I said, ‘so why is it 
necessary for me to take some of the stuff also?’ 

“ ‘I dunno, sir,’ he replied, gravely, ‘but that’s the way 
the priests does it, an’ ’twont work no other way.’ 

“ ‘ Did you ever try to make the head talk, John?’ 

“ ‘ Oh no, sir, I wudn’t do such a thing for all the world! 
It’s not for the likes o’ me, to be foolin’ ’round with such 
deviltry as that! But you have a eddication, sir, an’ that’s a 
diff’rent thing entirely. If I hadn’t met you, sir, an’ ye 
hadn’t been so kind to th’ old man. I’d never ha’ given the 
head nor the secret to nobody at all.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


207 


“ ‘I’m oblig-ed to you for the compliment,’ I said, ‘and to 
demonstrate my appreciation, I will keep the head.’ 

“ ‘An’ the paste, sir?’ 

“‘ Ye-yes, and the paste too. I will not promise that I 
I will ever use it, but it may come in handy.’ 

“I g-ave my sailor friend a hot toddy and a havana, and 
after wishing- me all kinds of g-ood luck, he bade me good-bye. 
I afterward regretted that I had not asked him whose head 
the specimen was reputed to have been. It mig-ht have been 
interesting- to know the old fellow’s views of the matter. 

“ That, my boy, is the way I came into possession of the 
relic which has so interested you. — 

“Oh yes, it is a skull now, isn’t it? Well, after a few 
months, I g-ot tired of that everlasting-, petrified grin which 
the thing had — it seemed to be gazing upon me with an expres- 
sion of ineffable superiority whenever I looked at it. I 
desired to keep the specimen, but I determined to give it at 
least an appearance of respectability, so I boiled the mummi- 
fied flesh off one fine day. 

“Did I ever induce the head to talk? Come, come, sir! 
Don’t hurry me or I’ll begin to think my story is a good one. 
We’ll get to that part of our programme directly.” 

“After the process of boiling to which I subjected it, the 
old sailor’s present became much more tolerable — indeed, its 
society grew to be positively agreeable. I have a habit of 
communing with objects of interest that happen to be about 
me, and after my friend, the head, had become merely an 
osseous ornament for my mantel — for I had no cabinet, nor 
had I collected any other skulls at that time — I occasionally 
manifested a certain degree of friendliness toward the relic. 

“With those dry, shriveled, sneering lips gone, there was 
no longer any disdainful quality to the expression of the 
skull. As you may have observed, the features are still 
wreathed in smiles, but there is nothing sardonic about them; 
indeed, they rather express an expansive and hearty air of 
sociability and benevolence than otherwise. 

“I became somewhat kindly disposed toward the skull, 
and used to talk to it occasionally, about various matters. 


208 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


I have even told it secrets of importance, and I must say 
that my confidence has never been betrayed. 

“I finally became quite familiar with my bony companion 
— I even went so far as to name it — or rather hmi. I called 
him ‘ Skully,’ a highly respectable cognomen, expressive both 
of his rather Hibernian cast of features and the preponder- 
ance of cranial development that he possesses. There is also 
a frank, hearty, confidentially familiar quality to the name, 
that appealed to my instinct of good-fellowship. 

“ My friend Skully has participated in much of my scien- 
tific labor, and has proven a wise counsellor on many occasions 
— the best I ever had in fact. He has ever been given to calm 
and philosophic reflection — so different from most men, in 
the flesh, who are creatures of impulse. — 

“Bewail not death — ’tis thus the poet sings, 

For death, and death alone, true wisdom brings. 

He who groping sees dimly here below. 

Beyond the grave alone may nature know. 

The unknown world is peopled by the wise, 

And knowledge has its throne in Paradise. 

“Ah ! my boy, such friends are hard to find! 

“One evening, while pensively smoking my usual allow- 
ance of Turkish, a meditative mood took possession of me and 
it so happened that I fell to thinking of the mauy excellent 
qualities of my friend, the skull. 

“ ‘Ahl’ I mused, as the fragrant rings of delicately blue 
smoke curled upward from my pipe — ‘ there are few friends 
like Skully, yonder. Always steadfast, ever interested, never 
bored, perpetually pleasant of expression, reliable as fate — 
how pleasant and true a comrade he is, to be sure. Why, I 
always know just where to find him ! — He is a friend indeed ! 

“ ‘And how discreet he is! He has never betrayed any 
of the numerous confidences I have reposed in him. He has 
even suggested ideas to me and has never gone around 
bragging about it. I never knew of his saying — 

“ ‘ Seen that article of Weymouth’s on ossification of the 
third ventricle? — Well, / suggested that to him. — Oh yes, I 
was glad to give him a lift, you know. — Not at all, not at all; 
you see I have lots of material, and besides, William is such a 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 209 

promising fellow — I don’t mind giving such men a helping 
hand,’ etc., etc. 

“‘Wow! Skully, my boy, you are more than human!’ I 
exclaimed. ‘But, after all, perhaps if you could talk — ’ 

“ ‘ By Jove! if! if!’ — I sprang to my feet in an ecstacy of 
sudden and interesting recollection. I recalled for the first 
time since the original head came into my possession, the 
chimerical story of my sailor friend. I had listened to John 
York, with the patronizing and tolerant indulgence of the 
good-natured skeptic who feels that superiority to the super- 
natural which a liberal education alone imparts. I had laid 
the oriental paste away and promptly forgotten its mysterious 
and wonderful properties, and having soon thereafter boiled 
the head, it was quite natural that I should not have recalled 
the old sailor’s story until my thoughts happened to take the 
direction already mentioned, and brought the circumstances 
surrounding the presentation of the head vividly be- 
fore me. 

“ ‘Supposing the sailor was right!’ I thought. 

“‘Pshaw! William, my friend,’ I reasoned, ‘you are a 
physician, with presumably a fair amount of common sense — 
not a silly old woman! But then,’ I said to myself, ‘what 
would be the harm in following the sailor’s directions and 
thus indulging the kind-hearted old fellow’s fantastic notions 
to the utmost! It was certainly unkind of me to have for- 
gotten him all this while, and it is possibly my duty to make 
amends.’ 

“ The notion was as amusing as it was novel, and upon 
the impulse of the moment I yielded to it. After some rum- 
maging about in my desk, I managed to find the queer little 
box of oriental paste. 

“ With a smile of derision at my own whimsical impulse, 
I proceeded to prepare a couple of boluses according to John 
York’s formula. Being a regular practitioner and, therefore, 
inclined to full doses, I measured out a good quantity— I 
resolved that there should be no reservation in following 
directions. 

“The pellets having been rolled, I placed one between 
the jaws of my friend Skully, saying facetiously, ‘Have one 


210 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


with me, my boy,’ and with a ‘Here’s looking at you, sir,’ 
swallowed the other myself. 

“Hardly had I completed what I intended as the indul- 
gence of a facetious whim, when I received a telephone 
message requesting me to call on a patient a short distance 
from my house. I responded to the call, found myself in the 
midst of a case of uraemic convulsions, and did not return 
home for at least an hour. 

“Meanwhile, as you may imagine, I had no thought of 
anything but my patient — such cases give no time for other 
matters. 

“ When I finally found myself back in my library and 
seated in my comfortable chair, I had completely forgotten 
the skull — paste and all. 

“As I sat smoking, and pondering over the case I had 
just left, I became conscious of a delightful sense of well-being 
such as I had never before experienced. While working over 
my latest patient, I had a feeling of exaltation which on any 
other occasion would have especially attracted my attention, 
but I was then so preoccupied that I did not notice it par- 
ticularly. It was not until my mind was free from the 
responsibility of the case, that I took cognizance of my own 
sensations, and even then, I gave my tobacco credit for their 
charm. You know, my boy — 

“Under tobacco’s wonderful spell, 

Trouble flies and the world g-oes well — 

Sweet visions of hope flit throug^h the brain 
And all is joy and peace ag-ain. 

Under tobacco’s wonderful spell, 

Happiness comes ; the world g-oes well — 

The skies are peopled with angels fair ; 

Back to hell flies the demon. Care ! 

“Never before had the fumes of my pipe seemed so 
dreamily delicious. The smoke curled upwards into beauti- 
ful designs, through which, as in a fleecy frame, lovely, angelic 
faces appeared; bright and bewitching eyes seemed to gleam 
upon me from somewhere, away out in space; I heard the 
sound of beautiful, aye, heavenly music. I gave myself over 
to my new sensations completely, with little power and abso- 
lutely no inclination, to resist them. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


211 


“I was in the seventh heaven of ecstatic, ineffable bliss; 
the world was one great panorama of beauty, in which couleiir 
de rose predominated — neutral tints there were none. I had 
but one wish — that so my soul might go on and on forever. 
Life was a vision of delight — a pleasurable emotion as large 
as the universe. I was king of the realms of sentiment, and 
levying taxes galore on my faithful subjects, when I was 
brought back to earth by the most discordant noise that 
could possibly have intruded itself into the bright and beau- 
tiful paradise of my imagination — a human voice ! 

“ ‘Ahem! Good evening, doctor.’ 

“I turned abruptly in my chair — for I confess I was 
startled — and looked expectantly toward the library door, 
supposing, of course, that the voice came from some visitor 
who had entered unannounced. 

“To my surprise, I saw no one! 

“After a moment’s reflection, I concluded the voice was 
a product of the fantastic though delightful reverie in which 
I had been revelling. I turned again to my desk and resumed 
smoking. — 

“ ‘Ah! my dear doctor, yon evidently know what comfort 
means !’ 

“ This time there could be no mistake — I had certainly 
heard a voice, and from the vicinity of the mantel! 

“I looked in that direction, and much to my amazement, 
I found the speaker to be — my friend, the skull! 

“ There he stood, smiling like a jack o’ lantern, and 
winking at me as familiarly as though friendly and sociable 
skulls were an everyday affair! 

“‘Great Hippocrates!’ I exclaimed, with rising hair, 
‘ was that you who spoke ? ’ 

“ ‘ Why, certainly it was I — didn’t you invite me to speak, 
and didn’t you give me some of the magic paste?’ 

“The astonishing truth flashed upon me — my sailor 
friend was right! What I had believed to be an inconsistent 
chimera of an ignorant old man’s brain, was a startling reality! 

“ ‘I must say, doctor, that you do not seem overjoyed at 
my interruption of what was evidently a pleasant reverie over 
your evening pipe.’ 


212 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


‘“Goodness gracious!’ I exclaimed, ‘You can’t expect 
one to be dumbfounded with amazement, and cordial at the 
same time! What do you mean, anyhow, by scaring- a fellow 
half to death, and then complaining- that you are coolly 
received? You mig-ht at least defer your criticisms until I 
g-et over my surprise.’ 

“ ‘ Why, doctor, I supposed of course that you — that is, 
you expected me to talk, did you not? You seemed to know 
exactly what you were about when you g-ave me the mag-ic pill, 
and I am sure you must have taken one yourself, else I never 
could have intruded upon you, even had I wished to do so.’ 

“‘You are rig-ht, sir,’ I replied, ‘but, to be perfectly 
honest with you, I will acknowledg-e that I went throug-h that 
performance more in a spirit of fun than because I expected 
anything to come of it.’ 

“ ‘Ah!’ said the skull, ‘that explains something! I have 
often wondered why you were so unsociable. So, you did 
not believe what old man York told you, eh? Well, my dear 
friend, you would have experienced stranger things than 
conversation with skulls, had you lived a few hundred years 
ago — when / was in the zenith of my fame.’ 

“ ‘ Very likely,’ I said,somewhat sarcastically, ‘but please 
remember that this is the nineteenth century, and although 
we have many things nowadays which, I fancy, would astonish 
even you; a conversazione with a skull is — well, it is hardly 
fin de siecle^ you’ll admit. I suppose a fellow might get used 
to it, but the effect upon one’s nerves is, at the outset, rather 
disturbing.’ 

“ ‘ Perhaps you are right, doctor,’ said the skull; ‘ I con- 
fess I had not thought of that, but one becomes so familiar 
with the manners, customs, and natural phenomena of his 
own time, that he is likely to forget that there are — well, as I 
heard one of your lady patients say the other day, “there are 
others.” By the way, I wish you would thank her for that 
valuable addition to my stock of terse and elegant expres- 
sions. I do not know the lady’s name, but she is the one with 
the blonde hair and brunette eyebrows, who wears a big hat 
with gaudy dead birds in it. You know, doctor, the one who 
is always chewing something.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


213 


“ ‘Ahem ! Oh yes ! certainly, certainly ! ’ I replied, mean- 
while wondering- what the deuce the fellow meant, and men- 
tally resolving- not to leaveany of that paste around where my 
wife could g-et hold of it. I, of course, knew that Skully was 
talking through his— no, that couldn’t be, could it? But then, 
you see, I didn’t care to take any chances, even though I felt 
sure that I knew no one corresponding to his description. 

“Fortunately, the skull did not notice my confusion — he 
might have misinterpreted it, you know. 

“ ‘ During the somewhat brief period of our acquaintance, ’ 
continued the skull, ‘I have often thought how pleasant it 
would be to know each other better. Our strictly profes- 
sional relations have oftentimes been somewhat irksome, and 
I have frequently wished I might introduce myself. But 
there were several reasons why it was necessary that you 
should make the first advances. In the first place, I am rather 
reserved than otherwise, and in the second place — you had the 
paste. 

“ ‘Again, while I have been quite democratic since I left 
my own family and took “pot luck” with yours, I have never 
forgotten the dignity and pride of my social station — that is, 
the social station I once occupied.’ 

“I think the skull realized that I was somewhat embar- 
rassed, for he hastened to add — 

“‘I did not mean to offend you, my dear sir, by the 
expression “pot luck,” I used it in the popular sense and not 
as a double entendre. I had forgotten, for the moment, 
the horrible stew you got me into some months ago. I was 
somewhat irritated at the time, ’tis true; indeed, to be frank 
with you, I was absolutely boiling for a few moments, but 
then, I soon cooled off — the incident was, after all, a pleasant 
holiday compared with some things I have had to bear during 
the last few centuries.’ 

“‘Introducing oneself is always an embarrassing pro- 
cedure, but I feel that in justice to us both, it should be done.’ 

“ ‘I assure you, doctor, that I am worthy of your friend- 
ship — by birth, breeding, and education. I, alas! cannot say 
that I am “ of poor but honest parents.” I don’t wonder you 
look surprised — it does make an unusual beginning for an 


214 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


autobiography, doesn’t it? Still, I must acknowledge with a 
due sense of modesty, that I, sir, am of the bluest of blue 
blood— Don’t smile, doctor, I know there’s not much evidence 
of blood of any color about me now. Yes, my friend, I am 
descended from one of the best known and most aristocratic 
families of Europe ! ’ 

“The skull paused, and I remarked, drily — 

“ ‘ Come to think of it, sir, I have often observed an 
aristocratic air about you. Indeed, now that I look at 
you more closely, I fancy I can trace the family resem- 
blance — you remind me strongly of some of the “ bony 
parts.” 

“ The skull sneered, quite perceptibly, and said, cut- 
tingly— 

“ ‘ Now, see here, doctor, I may be a little dry and stiff, 
and perhaps lacking in the finer shades of emotional expres- 
sion, but I still have some feeling — the loss of my fifth cranial 
nerve has by no means case-hardened me. I am not one of 
those “self-made men” of whom people talk so much nowa- 
days, or I wouldn’t have any feelings at all, but the fact 
remains that I can’t stand everything, so you must have 
some regard for such little sensibility as may still be left me. 
And now, let me give you some advice sir — I have had an 
excellent opportunity to study you for some months, and if I 
am any judge, I am justified in the conclusion that humor is 
not where you particularly shine.’ 

“ ‘Not even dry humor on grave subjects, eh?’ I inter- 
rupted. 

“I fancied there was a shade of contempt in the voice of 
the skull as he continued, without commenting on my inter- 
ruption — 

“ ‘You are clever in some directions. I’ll admit — oh, don’t 
blush; I am not flattering you, doctor, you do cut a boil grace- 
fully — but the other kind of humor is not the particular field 
in which you are likely to achieve immortality. 

“‘Besides, my dear sir, that “bony part” business, is 
an old, time-worn chestnut anyway. Old age makes some 
things respectable, but that ridiculous joke has grown more 
and more obnoxious as time has rolled away. It used to 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


215 

disg-ust me many years ago, but since I was— ah, boiled, I 
can’t endure it.’ 

“ ‘ But what is more enduring and immortal than a joke ?’ 
I asked. 

“ ‘ You are thinking of Joe Miller, I suppose,’ replied my 
osseous friend, ‘but he was a humorous phenomenon. Like 
the works of Hippocrates, the book of the inspired Joseph 
will be found to contain everything in his line — ancient 
and modern. To be sure, it may require careful search to 
discover it, but even amateur iconoclasts seem to be success- 
ful in finding the origin of every new thing that is said or 
done nowadays. 

‘“No, doctor, joking is not your forte — don’t ever try 
to be funny again — it isn’t becoming.’ 

“ ‘Well, I like that !’ I exclaimed. 

“‘Yes, I know, some people do, but tastes vary,’ replied 
my juiceless friend. ‘Personally, I don’t like joking. If any 
of these funny fellows ever come gyrating around here, and 
mouthing such wormy old gags as that “Behold this ruin — 
’tis a skull!” business, they’ll find out that Pjn not that kind 
of a ruin, else their faces will have to be harder than mine! 

“ ‘I might remark en passanp continued the skull, that, 
aside from my unexceptionable social position, there is 
another and stronger reason why we should meet upon terms 
of equality — I was a practitioner of medicine for many years, 
during the latter part of my momentous existence. In fact, 
my dear sir, I was in active practice up to the time I died.’ 

“ ‘Why, sir, ’I replied, ‘you both surprise and please me. 
I cannot express my gratification at learning of the fraternal 
bond that exists between us. I assure you, doctor — ’ 

“‘Pardon me, sir,’ said the skull, interrupting, ‘but 
I wish you would not address me by that particular 
title. I am not in practice at the present time, and as there 
are consequently no business reasons for desiring the appli- 
cation of the term to myself, I prefer that you should not 
do so.’ 

“ ‘ And pray, what shall I call you ? ’ I asked. 

“‘Oh,’ replied the skull, ‘anything you like, providing 
you don’t call me “doctor”. In my day, the appellation was 


216 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


an honorable one, but in this degenerate age, it is so loosely 
applied that it has neither honor nor significance. What 
with your drug store doctors, horse doctors, theological doc- 
tors, electric tooth doctors, Christian science doctors, patent 
medicine doctors, and mountebanks, to say nothing of musi- 
cal, spiritualistic and faith doctors, the term is so besmirched 
with vulgarity and ignorance, that I, as a self-respecting 
skull of a once genteel physician, positively will not permit its 
application to myself.’ 

“ ‘Well, then, sir,’ I said, ‘if you will pardon the familiar- 
ity, I will call you by the name under which 5mu have become 
best known to me. Sometime ago I dubbed you, “Skully”. 

“ The skull was evidently somewhat startled, and, I 
fancied, a trifle disconcerted. 

“‘Why’, he said, with some acerbity of inflection, ‘do I 
look like an Irishman?’ 

“‘Not at all, not at all,’ I said, ‘but you talk like one. 
There is an honest ring to your voice that pleases me? 

“‘As far as the name Skully is concerned, it is an old 
and honored one. With slight modification — merely the 
substitution of the letter c for k — the name is one that has 
acquired* great renown. Indeed, the happy majority of the 
possessors of the name “Scully,” have occupied positions of 
honor and trust in this country for years, and years. What 
would American politics do without the Scullys? Where 
would our police force be without them? Why, my friend, 
did you but properly appreciate it, you would thank me for 
the honor I have paid you.’ 

“ The skull actually smiled, as though well satisfied with 
himself! 

“ ‘ By Jove! are we all vain? ’ I asked myself. 

“ ‘ You are a fluent talker, at any rate,’ I continued, ‘and 
that’s another reason for suspecting you are of Celtic 
origin.’ 

“ ‘Yes,’ replied Skully, ‘but there are varying degrees of 
fluency, and several kinds of fluent talkers. / am the kind 
that has control of several languages — not one of those 
benighted and miserable creatures whose language has con- 
trol of them. With this understanding, I have no objection to 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 217 

being- termed “fluent.” I am, however, not Irish — I was 
never within many miles of the Blarney Stone.’ 

“ ‘ You may never have visited the Blarney Stone,’ I said, 

‘ but it is very evident that you are a g-entleman of culture, 
education, and vast experience — you have doubtless traveled 
much and had many strang-e adventures.’ 

“ ‘Ah!’ he exclaimed, somewhat sadly, it seemed to me, 

‘ You are rig-ht, doctor, I have indeed had a momentous career ! 
If you doctors of to-day were not so jealous of your time — well, 
I only wish I mig-ht have the opportunity of telling- you the 
story of my life. To be sure, “Time was made for slaves,” as 
one of your modern writers expresses it, but nevertheless I — ’ 

“‘My dear friend!’ I exclaimed eag-erly, ‘what is the 
value of time, even to a busy doctor, compared with the 
pleasure of listening- to such an autobiog-raphy as yours 
must be? Why, sir, I would have a scoop! a regular — ’ 

“ ‘I beg your pardon,’ interrupted Skully, ‘a what?’ 

“‘Pray excuse me,’ I answered, in some confusion, 
* There are some words, you know, which are so pregnant 
with meaning that we acquire the habit of using them with- 
out due regard for our audience. The term “scoop ” is one 
I borrowed from my newspaper friends.’ 

“‘Oh, yes!’ cried the skull, ‘I remember having heard 
my friend Seymour, of the Chronicle^ use the expression. It 
has some reference to sugar, has it not?’ 

“ ‘Well, hardly,’ I replied — at the same time wondering 
how he happened to know Seymour — ‘unless bearing upon the 
question of compensation, which, I believe, is at the present 
day hardly worthy of sufficient consideration to warrant a 
special appellation. But call it what we may, I should con- 
sider myself one of the most favored of mortals, could I but 
listen to your history.’ 

“ ‘ Well, doctor,’ said Skully, ‘I am sure your request is 
not inspired by mere vulgar curiosity, and I will do the best I 
can to entertain you— granting that you consider my con- 
versation entertaining. I will do so, however, only upon one 
condition.’ 

“‘Name it!’ I cried, determined to hear the story on 
any terms. 


218 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 



“ ‘Oh, it is a condition easily fulfilled,’ said my friend, ‘I 
merely wish it to be plainly understood, that what I am about 
to say is most emphatically not for publication. I am too- 
experienced a doctor, to run any risk of my remarks g-ettingp 
into the newspapers. I wouldn’t have my name appear in the 
papers for anything, and if any 
of my views should ever be pub- 
lished in the public press, I know 
— I — should — die! — again, I mean, 
of course.’ 

“‘Ah, my dear confrere!'' I 
cried, ‘I would certainly embrace 


“THIS IS NOT FOR PUBLICATION.’’ 

you, were it physically possible ! Why, sir, your views of 
ethics are actually up to date!’ 

“‘Oh, I dare say,’ he answered, ‘Ethics used to be my 
strong point. Why, doctor, I never consulted with a homeo- 
path— for less than ten dollars— nor bled a patient less than 
a quart, in the whole course of my practice! I believe I may 
say, in all modesty, that / was a model practitioner.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


219 


“‘You were, indeed, the beau ideal of “ reg-ularity,” ’ I 
replied, ‘ but it is really too bad that you will not permit me 
to publish your history. You could disavow all knowledg-e of 
the way it got into the papers, and thus protect your ethical 
standing.’ 

“ ‘ Young man,’ said Skully, ‘ didn’t you notice the “not 
for publication” wink, that I gave you, when I began impos- 
ing my conditions upon you ? ’ 

“Ignoring the patronizing reflection upon my compar- 
ative youth as viewed by the bony old veteran, I confessed 
that the wink had escaped my observation, at the same time 
marvelling that the lapse of centuries should have made so 
little change in physicians. — 

“‘To be perfectly frank with you,’ continued “ Mod- 
estus,” ‘my principal objection to the publication of my 
history, is that the newspapers might make capital of it. I 
have thought of entering politics, you know. The socialistic 
labor party is without a head, and some influence has been 
brought to bear upon me to represent it in the next election. 
Should the papers make capital of my history, my political 
aspirations would be nipped in the bud — the mere suspicion 
of the possession of capital would ruin me. Capitalists are 
somewhat unpopular with my party, you know. Then, too, 
the manifestation of the possession of a certain degree of 
intelligence would be against my political success.’ 

“ ‘ Well,’ I answered, ‘ I will be very careful not to betray 
you. There is one possible contingency, however, that might 
compel me to reveal the secret of your extraordinary intel- 
lectual capacity. Your appearance is so suggestive of the 
opposite condition, that you are liable to be drawn for jury 
duty at any time, and nothing but positive proof of the pos- 
session of at least a brain pan, would enable you to escape it.’ 

“ ‘ You forget,’ said Skully, ‘I am a doctor, and cannot be 
drawn for jury duty.’ 

“ ‘ And now for my story : ’ 

“ ‘I was first born in India, about five hundred years 
ago—’ 

“‘Excuse me, I said, in some bewilderment, ‘but did 
you say “^rs/born”?’ 


220 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“‘Yes, that’s precisely what I said,’ replied the skull, 
‘you see, I’m a Buddhist. I have been on earth twice.’ — 

“ ‘As I said, I was first born in India. My primary earthly 
career was not of g’reat interest, I believe. The only infor- 
mation I ever had upon the subject, however, was g-leaned 
from certain remarks made by the priests, in whose society 
I spent some years of my life — no, I mean death. 

“ ‘ You will perhaps understand that while I have had 
two earthly existences, my present individuality really beg'an 
with the last one, and I must therefore confine my narrative 
to it. Why, I don’t even know what I died of, or anything like 
that, regarding my first time on earth! The post-mortem 
revealed nothing.’ 

“‘How unfortunate — and how familiar a tale!’ I ex- 
claimed. 

“‘Possibly,’ replied Skully, ‘but it is not an unmixed 
evil— I will consume less of your time in the narration of my 
autobiography. 

“ ‘ My second advent occurred in Europe, several hun- 
dred years later. I will not give the exact place of my birth, 
as I do not wish to distress my descendants ; some of whom 
are doubtless still living and worrying about the fate of their 
remote ancestor — as one’s descendants always do. 

“ ‘My boyhood was uneventful, and gave no promise of 
future greatness. Like most scions of aristocratic families, 
I was badly pampered and spoiled — ’ 

“‘Why,’ I said, interrupting, ‘do you know, I fancied 
I noticed when I boiled — ’ 

“‘Come, come, doctor! no sarcasm, please; that is an- 
other field in which you will never win laurels!’ said my 
friend, severely. 

“ ‘It was not until I was quite a young man,’ he contin- 
ued, ‘that I discovered I had been born under an unlucky star 
— I found that I possessed versatility!’ 

“ ‘Why,’ I asked, with some surprise, ‘was not versatility 
appreciated in those days? I am aware that it is at a dis- 
count at the present time — specialism has done away with 
it — but I was under the impression that, in the good old times, 
the versatile genius was quite highly regarded.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


221 


“ ‘Oh, no,’ replied Skully, ‘far from it. In my own case 
the possession of versatility was a positive disaster — indeed, 
it proved my ruin. Possibly I might have coped successfully 
with the popular prejudice, had not my work been so far in 
advance of the times. I was at least a thousand years ahead 
of the mediocre geniuses of my day ! ’ 

“‘Ah, indeed!’ I exclaimed, ‘and in what particular 
direction, did your brilliantly scintillating genius endeavor 
to guide a stupid and unappreciative world?’ 

“Pray, do not hurry me, doctor,’ replied Skully, ‘Allow 
me to proceed in my own way and you shall have my entire 
history.’ — 

“ ‘ I was first attracted to literature, as the field that pro- 
mised most for my budding genius. 

“‘Boy though I was, I yet produced material which, 
even to-day, stands unequalled. Most authors struggle into 
full development by slow and painful effort, but my genius 
blossomed forth into full maturity as blooms the rose. ’Twas 
as though the bud of a century -plant of the intellect, that 
had lain dormant for an hundred benighted years, had burst 
forth into perfect fruition in the middle of the literary night ! 
Originality, audacity, and fearlessness in the cause of truth, 
showed in every line of my work. 

“ ‘ The literary world stood amazed ! And then came my 
battle with the critics. — 

“ ‘At first, they laughed at me, yes, sir, they actually 
laughed at me! They then added insult to injury, by claim- 
ing that I had departed from the truth!— that my work was 
“over-drawn, inaccurate, preposterous!” I, the model of 
veracity, had written — lies ! Ye gods ! — how did I ever stand 
it?’ 

‘“But my ardent, progressive spirit could not be 
quenched — I went on with my glorious work, even while 
smarting under the lash of asinine and vituperative criticism. 

“ ‘ Essay after essay, volume after volume, reeled from 
my pen! I struck blow after blow, at the dense, soulless, 
adamantine wall of ignorant public opinion ! 

“ ‘ Time rolled on, and the public stopped to listen — it 
finally said, “Well done!” The victory was fairly won, and 


222 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


had it not been for the malevolence of the critics, who followed 
me like bloodhounds, the name of — ahem! my name would 
have become immortal. 

“ ‘Ah! my dear doctor — how bitter is the reflection that 
our life-work has but served as a firm foundation for other 
and undeserving men to build their unearned fame and un- 
merited fortune upon! 

“ ‘ My work was stolen! stolen, sir !— stolen!’ 

“ ‘ You may imagine the bitterness with which I to-day 
see my wonderful work attributed to others! And such a 
variety of work ! Philosophy, religion, science, letters, the 
drama, poetry — all owe their very life-blood to me — to me, 
doctor, to me ! ’ 

“ ‘ Pray, be calm,’ I said, ‘you are actually working your- 
self into a rage. Remember, Skully, that your cutaneous and 
other excretory areas are not active, and the toxins of anger 
are dangerous.’ 

“ ‘ Toxins ! ’ he exclaimed, ‘ what are toxins ? ’ . 

“ ‘Oh, I’ll explain them to you some time— if they don’t 
go out of fashion before I get around to it. It looks as though 
they would hold water, but— well, you have yourself practiced 
medicine and you know how fashions change. But you seem 
calmer now — go on with your story, and remember that I, at 
least, appreciate you.’ 

“ ‘It is not the lack of appreciation altogether, that dis- 
gusts me,’ he resumed, ‘but I do despise literary pretenders 
and thieves! See the reputation Cervantes acquired through 
Don Quixote— creation, sir, mine! Where did Le Sage 
get his character of Doctor Sangrado? From one of my 
essays— by the great Confucius! Who wrote Junius’ 
Letters?—/ did! Who wrote Burton’s Anatomy of Melan- 
choly ? — / did! Who wrote the immortal plays attributed to 

that pot-house actor and all-around loafer — Shakespeare ? 

/did, sir! 

“ ‘ Do you wonder that my blood— I mean, my temper- 
boils?’ 

“ ‘Excuse me, Skully,’ I said, ‘I have expressed my con- 
fidence in you, it is true, but you mustn’t impose on good 
nature too far. I suppose it is fair enough for you to claim 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


223 


the authorship of Junius’ Letters, and even dear old Burton 
— nobody knows who really did write those immortal works — 
hut we moderns have had a surfeit of pretenders to the 
writings of Shakespeare.’ 

“‘Why, I hope you do not class me with such men as 
Ignatius Donnelly and Orville Owen, do you ? ’ asked the skull. 

“‘Oh, well,’ I replied, ‘they are not half-bad company, 
after all. I believe they have given excellent reasons for 
their views. Shakespeare, however, is one of our household 



gods, and I suppose 
we may not weigh him 
in the balance with other 
authors. We must take 
him on faith — the way most 
people do the scriptures.’ 

“ ‘Perhaps I was a little hasty, in 
repudiating association with the 
gentlemen whom I named — they are 
probably nice fellows enough, and, after 
all, the responsibility of the steal lies with 
that literarv buccaneer, Lord Bacon. But, when a fellow is 
excited he is apt to hit the nearest head. Pray, don’t apply 
the rule to me, however,’ said Skully, smilingly. ‘It is nat- 
ural that Bacon, of all men, should have grabbed every lit- 
erary and philosophic plum in sight. From what I hear of 
the fellow, he was always regarded as a bit of a hog, by those 
who knew him best.’ 

“ ‘Well,’ I replied, ‘ it is at least by no means surprising 
that Bacon should be claimed to be the author of some of the 


224 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


plays so familiarly known as Shakespeare’s. There is a 
decided flavor of similarity to Bacon’s style in some of them. 
Now, for example, there’s Ham — ’ 

“A severe look from the skull, warned me that I was on 
dang-erous g-round, and actually frig-htened all the satire out 
of me for the moment. 

“ ‘Is it not strang-e,’ continued Skully, ‘how misfortunes 
run in families? My father, before me, was a literary man, 
and, althoug-h of such high and noble birth, was one of the 
ablest writers of fiction of his day. Like his unhappy son, 
however, he was robbed of the honor to which he was justly 
entitled. My father, sir, wrote the Pentateuch, but that 
arrogant old fellow, Moses, cribbed the whole thing bodily! 
You moderns may well congratulate yourselves on the 
protection afforded by the copyright law.’ 

“‘But,’ I said, in astonishment, ‘do you really mean to 
assert that your father wrote the Pentateuch? There is a 
confusion of dates somewhere.’ 

“ ‘ Not at all, doctor, not at all,’ replied the genial Skully, 
‘my father was also a Buddhist — my first father I mean. 
Besides, the Pentateuch isn’t so awfully old as some would 
have us believe.’ 

“ ‘Oh, I see,’ I replied — though I didn’t see a little bit — 
and the skull went on with his story. — 

•‘‘I finally grew disgusted with general literature, and 
determined to give it up — for a time at least. 

“ ‘ During the course of my literary labors, my atten- 
tion was directed to natural history from time to time. I 
finally conceived a liking for the study, and when I decided 
to cease writing on general topics for the time being, I very 
naturally concluded to indulge my f enchant for natural his- 
tory in a practical manner, by travel, and observation of the 
fatma and fiora of foreign countries. 

“‘During the progress of my labors, I developed some 
facts and theories that some of your modern scientists have 
greedily appropriated, without the slightest allusion to the 
real discoverer of the scientific facts they claim as their own. 
It has not surprised me so much, that my general literary 
work has been stolen, but scientific men should be above 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


225 


suspicion, and I am astonished at the effrontery and dis- 
honesty of some of them. 

“‘Is it not surprising*, that such men as Darwin and 
Wallace, should coolly steal my thunder? 

“ ‘ What ! ’ I cried, ‘ do you mean to say that those g'rand, 
immortal scientists have — ’ 

“ ‘I — mean — just — what — I — said — sir, 'replied the skull, 
with a fine show of dig*nity, ‘/ was the originator of the 
modern theory of evolution. The first primitive suggestion 
of its possibility was originated by a Hindee philosopher, in 
the thirteenth century, or thereabouts, and was developed by 
myself. 

“‘Darwin, forsooth! Why, doctor, he hadn’t the faint- 
est idea of the true character of the missing link! I discov- 
ered, not one link, but a thousand. ’Twas I, who discovered 
the Caudate men of Africa.’* 

“ ‘ Caudate men!’ I exclaimed, greatly interested. ‘You 
astonish me! Would it be asking too much to request you to 
describe them to me? I really must bring the subject up at 
the Academy of Sciences — provided you will give me the data. ’ 

“ ‘With pleasure, my dear doctor, if you will but excuse 
brevity. 

“ ‘ The “ Fakees,’' as I called them, or human caudates, 
were, as I have said, inhabitants of Africa. I entered their 
country in the spring of 1700, and the first village that I saw 
in the wild, unbroken forest, greatly surprised me. There 
was only one habitation, which was in the form of a queer- 
looking tunnel, about one-hundred and fifty feet long, made of 
sticks meeting at the top like the sides of the letter A, and 
covered with dried leaves and twigs. This tunnel was a little 
more than three feet Ijigh, six or seven feet wide at the base 
of the triangle, and was open at each end. 

“‘Some wild, hairy children, who were playing outside 
this queer-looking structure, raised a terrified howl as soon 
as they saw the strange man and his party, and at once 
some wild-looking creatures rushed out of their tunnel and 
scampered away into the woods like so many monkeys. 

♦ With a htimble apologry to M. D’Enjoy, the real (?) discoverer of the “human 
ca\idates.“ — Author. 


226 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“‘These Fakee tribes are very likely the alleged 
“monkeys,” whose terrific battles with the gods are de- 
scribed in the sacred book of India. 

“ ‘ One of the wild men was up a large tree, engaged in 
gathering honey. He was greatly alarmed by the flight of 
his companions, and came down as fast as he could, stepping 
on pegs of wood that had been driven into the tree, until he 
was about fifteen feet from the ground, when he sprang down 
and tried, with head lowered like a bull, to break through the 
circle of men who had surrounded the tree; but he was cap- 
tured after a desperate struggle. 

“ ‘After a while I induced him to talk to me. He was a 
tall, well-made, handsome fellow with vigorous, hairy limbs, 
and looked like a bronze statue. His ankle bones were 
enormous, like those of his friends, and, wonderful to relate, 
he had an unmistakable tail ! 

“‘This amazing discovery startled me. I approached 
him, and to be certain that I was not the victim of an illusion, 
I felt with my hand his caudal appendage. I convinced myself 
in this manner that the vertebral column of the Fakee was 
prolonged beyond his body by six or seven small vertebrae so 
as to form a little tail like that of a deer. 

“ ‘When I spoke to the prisoner about his caudal append- 
age, its fortunate and apparently proud possessor drew 
himself up to his full height as he remarked, that all the 
Fakees had tails. The tail, he said, was the sign of the pure 
Fakee race, and it was becoming rarer with every succeeding 
generation. There was a time when the Fakee kings had 
tails that were three cubits in length, but the tribes had been 
driven away from the rich and fertile plains of their fathers, 
into the wild region where I had found the captured man, and, 
in the later degenerate age, the nation’s pride, the tail, had 
been gradually disappearing. 

“ ‘ The statement of the captured Fakee explains why no 
one has found the species of recent years. 

“ ‘ The man whom I captured was much taken with me — 
as well as by me — and led me to his village. It seemed that 
he was chief of the tribe. To my astonishment, I found in 
the village, a population of over one thousand persons, each 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


227 


with a handsome tail. You will understand that I was com- 
pelled to take for g-ranted, the existence of a caudal appendag'e 
in the Fakee women — they were very modest and refined 
ladies. ’ 

“ ‘ How on earth did you manag’e to converse with them? ’ 
I asked. 

“Skully smiled pityingly, and said, ‘Why, my dear sir, I 
ante-dated Professor Garner in the study of the monkey 



OF THE FAKEE BLOOD ROYAL. 


language, by some hundreds of years. The Fakees spoke 
the ancestral anthropoid tongue in all its simplicity. — 

“ ‘As you will readily understand, doctor, after having 
been told my discoveries, the modern school of evolutionists 
makes me very weary. ’ 

“ ‘ You are certainly a most remarkable man — I mean 
skull, ’ I said, wonderingly . 

“‘You compliment me, sir,’ replied Skully, ‘I flatter 
myself however, that my extraordinary cranial contour would 
suggest, even to the superficial observer, that I am no or din- 


228 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


ary anatomical preparation. You will confess that you have 
never met another individual like myself. ’ 

“‘I should say not, most emphatically!’ I replied, mar- 
velling* meanwhile at my friend’s innate and somewhat 
freakish egotism. 

“‘It would consume entirely too much of your valuable 
time, and mig-ht necessitate another social pill of the mag*ic 
paste,’ continued Skully, ‘were I to tell you all of my adven- 
tures in my various tours of travel, observation and scientific 
study. 

“ ‘ My experiences have been little short of marvellous, 
though to be sure, I cannot claim to have had such remarkable 
adventures as have been described by Jules Verne and others 
— more literary freebooters by the way. In the words of 
Peter Pindar — 

‘ “ Nor have I been where men (what loss, alas !) 

Kill half a cow, then send the rest to g-rass. ” 

“ ‘ On my return to Europe, I published a number of 
volumes in which I furnished a new and scientific classifica- 
tion of plants and animals, based upon my exhaustive 
researches.’ 

“ ‘I am very glad to hear that, friend Skully,’ I said, ‘it 
was high time you were appreciated, and scientific men must 
have flocked to your standard with the wildest enthusiasm.’ 

“There was an expression of martyr-like resignation on 
the classic features of the skull, as he answered — 

“‘Alas! your inference is born of your sincerity and 
candour! It shows the simple honesty and conscientiousness 
of the true modern scientist. Unfortunately, however, so- 
called men of science flocked to my standard, not to applaud 
and uphold it, but seeking whatsoever they might steal. 

“‘Ah! my dear boy — for you are but a child compared 
with myself — you know not how it galled me to have my work 
ignored, misrepresented and pilfered! And the miserable 
thefts have gone on and on! In somewhat recent years, 
Linnaeus, the Darwins, Wallace, Huxley, Tyndall and Spen- 
cer, have hoodwinked the public and gained immortality for 
themselves by facts and theories which they have stolen — yes 
sir, stolen like the ordinary vulgar thieves that they are, from 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


229 


my work.’ As he spoke, a mass of modest, liquefying- osteo- 
phytes trickled slowly down my friend’s by no means tender 
cheek. 

“ ‘ The situation was becoming- somewhat embarrassing-. 
Desiring- to divert the current of his thoug-hts from the per- 
secutions to which he had been subjected during- life, it 
occurred to me to appeal to his memory of tender sentiment 
— if he ever had any, and I said — 

“‘By the way, Skully, your autobiog-raphy, thoug-h fas- 
cinating- indeed, is yet incomplete. It has no ting-e of 
romance. Were you ever married?’ 

“ My friend stopped weeping- and g-lared at me furiously. 

“ ‘ Married!’ he shrieked, ‘was — I — ever — married? Be- 
hold this ruin! There I g-o — I’ll be saying- “ ’tis a skull!” 
myself, next, if I’m not careful! Married! — Well, I should 
remark ! Look at me sir ! Just look at me ! But, my dear 
friend, I mustn’t discuss that subject. You are happy enoug-h 
in your matrimonial relations, as the world g-oes, while I — well 
every dog- has its day and I have had several days. Doctor, 
’tis a painful memory! Why, /have done time in the tread- 
mill of domestic bliss! Don’t ever ask me about that 
particular phase of my career ag-ain. Whenever you want to 
know the true status of my opinions on love and marriag-e — 
look at my occiput. There you will find a little inscription 
that one of your young- lady friends wrote upon’my hairless, 
scalpless cranium the other day. 

“I turned the skull around and read — 

“ ‘ And woman’s love is a bitter fruit, 

And howe’er he bite it or sip, 

There’s man}^ a man has lived to curse 
The taste of that fruit on his lip. ’ 

“ ‘ Why,’ I said, ‘what inspired that sentiment? There 
is nothing- striking- about it, and I am sure it is not orig-inal.’ 
Then, as a horrible suspicion flashed throug-h my mind, I 
exclaimed — 

“‘Great heavens, Skully! you were not talking to that 
young" woman, I hope?’ 

“The skull looked at me quizzically and replied, ‘ No— I 
couldnH, as you well know. I suppose the sweet young- thing- 


230 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


divined at once, that I was the relic of an extraordinary man, 
and as her reading* has led her to the conclusion that love is 
the only thing* that kills such people, she quite naturally 
inferred that that was what killed me — hence her quotation. 
And she was not far from rig*ht, it did almost kill me — as I 
have said; I served my time in the matrimonial state.’ ” 


‘‘Well, my boy, here we are at our old tricks again — play- 
ing the night owl ! I fancy we had better leave our friend 
Skully at this point. I can assure you that he will be with us 
again at our next meeting, and, from his sleepy expression, I 
am convinced that he is perfectly willing to be excused for 
to-night. Good night, boy, and pray do not dream of our bon 
camarade — Skully. ” 





THE RHODOMONTADE OF A SOCIABLE SKULL 


II. 



magic cup — the glowing wine 

Hath naught of mystic spell 
like thine* 

The Circe drug from Orient, 

Ne^er to my dreams such 
pleasure lent 

As thou, oh leaf of wond rous 
powr — 

Thou makest fair the passing 
hour* 




s 


*■ •'C 
» ^ ■ 
T • . 


I 


t k 


> . 








■ 


V 


* 


\ 


t 


\ 






* 


V 






WORKING A SOAP MINE 





THE RHODOMONTADE OF A SOCIABLE SKULL, 


II. 



[S I strolled to- 
ward the doctor’s 
comfortable home, I 
^l^'was contrasting- the life of 
^^the prosperous physician 
with that of the averag-e 
medical student. It oc- 
curred to me that the lat- 
ter, during- his colleg-e days, earns all the comfort he may 
eventually acquire. 

The medical student is, of all men, the one who oug-ht to 
be compensated in after-life for the hardships and annoyances 
that he almost always suffers during- his student days — 
unless he lives at home, and the fellow who does, is a mere 
counterfeit student. 

Was there ever anything more distinctively sui generis 
than a medical student’s boarding-house ? 

The landlady is usually a widow of uncertain age — a lady 
of striking peculiarities and manifold talents. She is a 
woman who never hides her light under a bushel — her 
measures do not run so large, nor does she have light to 
spare. 

The widow has had a husband, sometime or other — I had 
supposed this was usually the case with widow ladies, until I 
heard my landlady discuss the subject several times, when I 


236 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


concluded that husbands were a special dispensation of 
Providence in the past lives of so7ne widows. 

The husband, in the case of Mrs. Jenkyns, must have 
been a dispensation of Providence — unless he was blind. 
Indeed, Providence must have taken g-reat interest in the 
comfort of Mrs. Jenkyns’ husband, for he died soon after 
“our youngest” was born — which shows how a kind Provi- 
dence sometimes rectifies mistakes. How sweet to die, and 
feel that our change must surely be for the better! 

Life still seems to hold fair hopes for the dear old lady! 
Can it be that she aspires to a second baptism in the divine 
fire? Is yet another blind man destined to cavort around in 
the widow’s comedy-drama of life? Heaven pity the blind — 
their woes appear to have no end? 

Mrs. Jenkyns has certain de-appetizing characteristics 
that should be highly profitable to her. Her hair is of that 
hard-to-find-in-th e-hash shade, which is so disquieting to one 
of fastidious tastes and delicate appetite. Her complexion is 
of that shiny type, so suggestive of the cosmetic effects of 
second-hand bacon rind — it is oozy, perspiry and slippery 
to the eye, the struggles of the cutaneous transpiration to 
free its scattered droplets from the imprisoning grease, 
being all too painfully evident. 

The one feature of the landlady’s face that is bewilder- 
ingly uniform, all the world over — in character if not in 
outline — is her nose. There is a “snooping,” insinuating, 
wonder-what-he’s-doingair about it, that is very exasperating 
to one who enjoys privacy. 

And the nose is by no means of a retiring and modest 
disposition — it is habited in couleur de — well, couleur de 
hrick,-'' I should say — that makes the generalized dusky-red of 
her greasy, shiny face, pale, delicate pink by contrast. 

One would not mind these various attributes of the old 
girl’s proboscis, if it were not constantly so sneezy, snivelly, 
ozaenically moist. 

Many a time, as the ancient dame has bustled about her 
kitchen, washing dishes or baking pies, still oftener when 
she has gracefully bowed her lovely head over my plate as 
she handed me my soup at dinner, I have felt like a con- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


237 


demned criminal, standing- in the shadow of the g-allows-tree, 
hopeless, despairing- and thoroug-hly miserable, waiting- in 
dreadful expectation for — but I forbear. 

And her eyes! What student does not remember his 
landlady’s eyes? Even now, as I sit speculating- on my 
chances of g-etting- fees enoug-h to settle for my commutation 
ticket, at the little restaurant kept by “Italian John ” around 
the corner, I recall with swelling, overwhelming emotion, my 
landlady’s eyes. With what a stony stare did they gaze upon 
me, when I was behind-hand with my board and asked for a 
second helping of “blind robins,” otherwise known as dried 
herring, at breakfast, or another cut — not piece — of pie at 
dinner 1 

Those bleary, watery, cadaveric eyes ! those windows of 
a soul that had been shrouded in Cimmerian gloom ever since 
Josh ’way, her husband, escaped — no, I mean died! Peer not 
hitherward at me, oh cold, fishy, and unsympathetic orbs ! 
Shadows of the leaden past — the days of my digestive martyr- 
dom — roll not away, but envelop the vision of my memory in 
thy protecting, all obscuring folds ! 

Some one has said that a truly refined woman has a flavor 
of personality about her; an odor peculiar to herself; a balm 
of Araby, that is neither violet, jasmine, musk nor oil of rose, 
but a scent as of a sweet zephyr, wafted from the gardens of 
an ever-blooming, fragrant, flowery paradise, and laden with 
the essence of a thousand beautiful exotic blossoms. Tome, 
it is suggestive of witchery, of oriental balm, of languorous 
bliss and dreamy emotions; it is — well, it is she, the one per- 
fect being of whom every man dreams, in very self. 

By what standard shall I gauge the olfactory impressions 
conveyed by my landlady? Who can describe that subtle 
aroma of soap-suds, sebum, perspiration and the pensive, 
dreamy onion of old Spain? Is it indeed a sweet-scented 
breeze from far-away Old Castile — or is it some other and 
more “ sudsey ” brand? Quien Sahe ? 

The children, of whom there are always two — and who 
knows why there should invariably be this exact number? — 
are also sui generis. 


238 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


The eldest is a daug-hter, of course. She is generally a 
blonde, of the peroxide type, with a voice that perpetually 
stands as a target for the family regret of poverty — a voice 
that would have made her famous, had mamma possessed 
“means to cultivate it!” And then, when you suggest con- 
sulting the Department of Agriculture at Washington — 
mamma gets real mad. 

Sapphirais nothing if not bewitching — she has 
for young students who have never been away from home 
before — young fellows who don’t know a hawk from a hand- 
saw and to whom the society of ladies is an unknown world. 
Before their first college term is over, Sapphira has the scalps 
of a dozen of these callow youths dangling at her belt. They 
would all propose to her at once, if they knew how, and had 
the nerve. 

And Sapphira longs for the second term, when the boys 
shall be older and more self-confident. Meanwhile, the 
summer vacation comes and they spend a few weeks in the 
city — and get experience. 

The opening of their second college course arrives all too 
soon, and the boys return to their old places at Sapphira’s 
mamma’s never gay and seldom festive board. 

There’s no use trying to change boarding places — a 
fellow always finds that the new one is just a little worse than 
the old. 

Sapphira gazes at the boys in gloating exultation. They 
are more manly, bolder ; some of them are bewhiskered ; all 
are evidently more experienced — but they don’t propose! — 
not any. 

No more do those wary boys linger in the parlor after 
supper, listening to the soul-stirring tones of Sapphira’s voice 
and the clickety-clack of her piano accompaniment, as she 
sings, “Where is my wandering boy to-night?” No more 
will they beat time to the rataplan of the “Turkish Patrol,” 
which, as she renders it, is so suggestive of “ bones ” at the 
minstrels ! No more will the boys swear at each other under 
their breaths and fight imaginary duels among themselves, 
for the yearned-for favor of Sapphira’s smiles! 



OVER THE HOOKAH. 239 

Sapphira has had her wish — the boys have developed a 
nerve like Greenland’s icy mountains — but alas! thing’s are 
not coming- the fair maiden’s way! And so the sweet young- 
thing- must beg-in all over ag-ain, and nurse the bubbling- emo- 
tions and tender affections of another batch of “juniors.” 

But, “never yet, was g-oose so gray but soon or late ” — 
Sapphira finally lands her man, or rather, boy. Sooner or 


later, one of those' vapid imbeciles whose parents have fool- 
ishly sent him to a medical college, instead of placing him in 
an institution for the feeble-minded, strolls into the fair 
Sapphira’s net and — all is over. 

The landlady’s other child is a boy— and make no mis- 
take about the sex. His mother says he is “just like his 
lamented pa an assertion which, I am sorry to say, is not 
precisely true, for “pa” is very dead — or absent. I will state 


“WHERE IS MY WANDERING BOY 
TO-NIGHT? ’ 


240 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


in passing, that there are theories regarding- pa, which do not 
perfectly agree with the landlady’s historical mortuary 
account of the absence of that interesting “has-been.” No, 
the boy is not like his pa, for, drat him ! he is alive, healthy, 
and very much in evidence — and, in addition, he is the most 
unmitigated nuisance the world ever saw! 

“Sammy,” as Mrs. Jenkyns calls her hopeful, is a boy of 
iron constitution and unquenchable, insatiable curiosity. 
Only the combination of these qualities could ever have pre-^ 
served his life, on several occasions. His escapes from death 
have been absolutely miraculous. You can’t kill him. I’ll 
swear to that, for, well, to be honest, / have tried it aiifi 
failed! and what a student of medicine, with a taste for 
amateur prescribing and drug experimentation cannot kill, 
the same shall not be killed! I have even laid traps for Sammy, 
leaving poisonous drugs about, where his infernal curiosity 
was sure to lead him into dangerous investigation, but it was- 
no use, and I finally gave it up as a bad job — and an expensive 
one. 

Never did Sammy get the worst of it but once. The 
little demon is very fond of pie. It has ever been the 
students’ boast that that boy can out-do any “pie biter ” in 
the county. We have perfect confidence in his ability to eat 
seventeen pies, providing a plate be not rung in on him — and 
we are not so sure about the plate. 

Seeing that the boarders were somewhat jealous of 
Sammy’s large and numerous helpings of pastry, the old lady 
finally baked a small pie separate from the rest, especially for 
the little gourmand. 

The old girl was in the habit of paring and quartering 
her choicest apples and laying them aside for Sammy’s pretty 
little pie. One of our boys, who was a bit of a practical joker 
and inordinately fond of pie himself, observed this maneuver 
on the old lady’s part, and resolved to have revenge. 

Slipping into the kitchen one day, when the landlady had 
left the room for a moment, our student abstracted a bar of 
hard soap from a box that stood beside the pan in which the 
specially prepared apples were kept. With his jack-knife, he 
whittled from the soap an artistic model of a quarter-section 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


241 


of apple; he then put the counterfeit into the pan among the 
real articles, and made his escape. 

Mrs. Jenkyns was very near sighted — she couldn’t see 
beyond the end of her nose, for more reasons than one, per- 
haps. She sliced up the counterfeit piece of apple, placed it 
in Sammy’s pie, and having finished it a la mode^ proceeded to 
bake it as usual. 

As might be supposed, we had been apprised of the treat 
in store for us — and for Sammy — and were on the qiii vive 
for developments. 

Sammy got his pie according to programme, and with his 
customary expression of hellish satisfaction, proceeded to 
devour it. 

Now, Sammy was not the most graceful eater in the 
world — he was given to huge mouthfuls, and capacious swal- 
lows of imperfectly masticated food. On this occasion, he 
did himself proud — he had swallowed quite a quantity of the 
saponaceous pie, before his all-too-tardy taste warned him of 
trouble. 

Sammy was sick — indeed, he was very sick ! He actually 
frothed at the mouth. We boys said he was “poisoned;” 
one young gentleman, however, inquired very particularly 
whether our victim had been bitten by a dog lately. The old 
lady fairly begged us to use a stomach pump — and we did! 

Revenge is sweet, they say, but pumping that soap 
factory out of Sammy’s stomach was more than sweet — ’twas 
bliss, exalted and ineffable bliss ! 

The memory of the mysteries of my landlady’s cuisine 
recalls a feature of her table which is even now productive of 
degout . — 

’Tis an unappetizing recollection ! 

If there was a single day, aye, a single meal, when our 
dessert was not flanked by a large dish of stewed prunes, I 
do not now recall it. Prunes! prunes! prunes! morning 
noon and night — and especially at noon! Whenever the land- 
lady’s exchequer was running low — as it did sometimes when 
our remittances from home were delayed — we were gently 
reminded of her necessities, by a strictly prune diet at 


242 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


luncheon. It required but a few days of this sort of thing- to 
properly humble the delinquent students and bring- them to 
a realizing sense of their obligations. The most intrepid 
spirit quailed under that regimen — which by the way, was 
the nearest approach to quail that I ever experienced during 
my college career. 

I have often regretted that my landlady surfeited me 
with a fruit that others seem to enjoy. Since my college 
days, the gay and festive prune has had no fascination for me. 
I still cling to it as an occasional therapeutic resource, but as 
a titillator of the palate it is to me a failure; it is no longer a 
source of gastronomic joy. 

“Hallo dar, Marse Frank! Reckon yo’s kummin’ hyar 
ain’t yo’? ’Pears like yo’s absen’ minded sah; yo’ wuz jes’ 
gwine right erlong pas’ de house. De doctah iz er waitin’ fo’ 
yo’ in de library an’ he done tole me ter leff de do’ open fo’ yo’ 
’all.’ 


‘Well, young man,” said the doctor, “you seem good 
natured and happy to-night. I don’t know but I had better 
let you do the entertaining and devote my own attention to 
my faithful hookah. 

“You can’t tell stories! Well, I doubt that assertion 
sir, and if I ever get the opportunity, I shall certainly try to 
draw you out. But we have the autobiography of yonder 
modest skull under consideration, and as it is already later 
than we usually begin our story-telling, we will have a glass 
of punch and continue the narrative of my friend Skully.” 

“ ‘ To one who does not understand the spirit of industry 
which characterizes the genius — and especially the versatile 
genius,’ said Skully continuing, ‘it might seem remarkable 
that I should have struggled on and on, seeking for recognition 
and laurels by developing discoveries beneficial to my fellow 
man. I will not say that even / was not tempted at times to 
retire from the world and sequester my wonderful talent in 
humble retirement, but my impulses in this direction were 
ever momentary and fleeting. The thirst for knowledge was 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


243 


too strong- within me — I could not waste my marvelous intel- 
lectuality and allow the fair fields of my knowledg-e to lie 
fallow — I had, moreover, too much philanthropy for that. 

“ ‘ Tiring- of the ceaseless pillag-ing- to which so-called 
“scientists” had subjected the results of my researches in 
natural history, I resolved to enter a different line of study, 
and turned my hand to applied chemistry and mechanical 
invention. ’ 

“ ‘Ah, indeed ! ’ I exclaimed, ‘ you must have startled your 
compatriots, when your remarkable inventive g-enius g-ot 
fairly under way ! ’ 

“ ‘ Well, to tell you the truth, doctor, I did stir them up a 
little, yet none of my discoveries were ever accredited to me, 
and the best of them were never published, even obscurely. 

“‘Since I have had the opportunity of cultivating- your 
society, my dear doctor, I have, on several occasions, been 
forcibly reminded of some of my wonderful discoveries. 
Why, sir, when I see you slaving- away with your books, 
papers and patients, trying- to live and let live, and think of 
the position you mig-ht be in, were you possessed of my 
knowledg-e in certain directions, my heart — or rather, my 
head — aches for you. 

“‘Supposing-, for example, that you were familiar with 
my process of making diamonds — you could make yourself 
rich in a single day.’ 

“‘What!’ I cried in astonishment, ‘do you mean to 
assert ih'aXyou ever made diamonds?’ 

“ ‘ I most certainly do,’ he replied, ‘ I long ago proved the 
possibility of their manufacture beyond all peradventure of 
doubt. I never published the process, because, had it become 
known, diamonds would have been cheaper than coal.’ 

“‘You astonish me!’ I said. ‘It is true that diamonds 
can be made artificially, even now-a-days, but they are mere 
microscopic specks, and it is quite unlikely that we will ever 
make them large enough to appreciably disturb the diamond 
market. Can it be possible that you ever made them of 
sufficient size to be of real value, save as curiosities?’ 

“ ‘ You may be sure I did,’ replied Skully, ‘ nor do I think 
the feat was anything remarkable. Your scientists now-a- 


244 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


days, are away behind the times. The basis of their process 
of diamond making, like many another of your modern inven- 
tions, is entirely too artificial. Now, I developed my process 
along perfectly natural lines, by imitating the method by 
which diamonds were originally produced in nature — as you 
will observe, if you will extend me the courtesy of listening 
to a brief description of the principles involved in my pro- 
cess.’ 

“ ‘ To say that I was all attention, would convey but a 
faint impression of the effect the words of the skull had upon 
me. To supply myself with pencil and paper, required but 
a moment — I then awaited the pleasure of the skull, with as 
much patience as I could summon — which was little enough I 
assure you. 

“After a few moments of reflective deliberation, Skully 
said: — 

“ ‘ While I was traveling in Africa, several centuries ago, 
I chanced to be thrown into the society of a queer old Zulu 
priest — a believer in fetiches too numerous to mention; a man 
who believed that the discordant “plong! plong!” of the “tom- 
tom ” and the wild, weird music of the African fiddle with one 
string, were “fetich” for all sorts and conditions of “voodoo” 
spells and pernicious influences. 

“‘With the characteristic egotism of the European, I 
had thought but little of the intelligence of the African negro 
— especially in his wild state. My Zulu friend soon corrected 
this erroneous belief, by demonstrating that we Caucasians 
were far behind the negro savages in many branches of 
knowledge. 

“‘Among other interesting and instructive things, he 
confided to me a crude outline of a method that his remote 
ancestors used in the manufacture of diamonds. He also 
gave me my first definite idea of the way in which the precious 
bits of brilliant beauty were originally formed in Nature. 
Guided by the hints received from my old Zulu friend, I 
finally formulated a logical explanation of the natural process 
of diamond formation, upon which I based my own improved 
method of manufacturing the gems — the revival, in a new and 
scientific form, of a lost art as old as the original negro father, 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 245 

Ham, who is reputed to have been the progfenitor of the ebon- 
hued Africans. 

“ ‘ Diamonds large enough to pay for the making, my 
dear doctor, can be made only in one way — by the action of 
heat and pressure upon water, in combination with liquid 
carbon. ’ — 

“The skull paused, for effect, I fancied, while I began 
taking notes at a furious rate. Not until I had written down 
the skull’s first proposition did its absurdity strike me. 

“ ‘ Excuse me, Skully,’ I said, ‘but you are making a bad 
beginning. How in the world can you crystallize carbon and 
water by heat and pressure?’ 

“‘Why, doctor, how stupid you are! How do you 
moderns liquefy gases and crystallize liquids?’ 

“ ‘ By cold and pressure,’ I replied. 

“ ‘ Heat and cold are essentially the same thing, are they 
not, and within certain limits produce the same effect upon 
matter?’ he asked. 

“I was forced to admit that the two agents did differ in 
degree, rather than kind. 

“ ‘ Very well, then, I use two fluids, both with an inherent 
tendency to crystallization, and by heat and pressure I con- 
dense the liquid carbon into — the diamond.’ 

“ ‘But what becomes of the water?’ I asked. 

“‘Why, sir,’ replied the skull, ‘I thought you modern 
doctors were up in chemistry and physics! Didn’t you ever 
hear of the water of crystallization?’ 

“ ‘ Of course, I know all about that,’ I answered, ‘ even a 
junior student understands such things.’ 

“ ‘ Then you should know that nowhere is the water of 
crystallization so abundant as in the diamond. Are you 
not familiar with the term, “diamond of the first water?” 
That tells the story plainly enough. The fact that water 
was an important factor in the original formation of the 
diamond, was well known to the ancient Zulus and East 
Indians — it was from them that the term descended. Do you 
grasp the idea?’ 

“‘Ye — yes, I believe I do,’ I hesitatingly replied, ‘but, 
come to think of it, friend Skully, there is no liquid carbon in 


246 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


nature now-a-days. Where did you get the stuff ? The 
nearest approach we have to it is that infernal, foul-smelling- 
bi-sulphide of carbon that we use in the laboratory — which is 
a mighty poor apology for it, I can tell you.’ 

“ ‘I was coming to that, sir,’ said my bony friend, impa- 
tiently. The original supply came from the sun. That center 
of all activity and energy, is nothing but a mass of semi-solid 
carbon in a state of combustion. It’s rays — ’ 

“ ‘But,’ I interposed, ‘the spectroscope — !’ 

“‘Oh, confound your spectroscope!’ cried the skull. 

‘ I’d much rather peep into a kaleidoscope any day ! It’s ten 
times as pretty, and a blamed sight more accurate and reli- 
able ! You doctors now-a-days are like a lot of children — you 
go crazy over every new toy. Now in my day — ’ 

“‘Pardon me,’ I said, ‘but about the liquid carbon and 
the sun?’ 

“ ‘Oh yes, where was I? I remember — I was speaking 
of the origin of liquid carbon in nature: 

“‘Well, the sun’s rays, when submitted to ultimate 
analysis, are composed of carbon in a concentrated yet par- 
tially soluble form. As the original vapor that surrounded 
the globe, gradually condensed and collected upon its surface 
during the process of cooling, it brought down with it, 
molecules of carbon in a state of semi-solution. The rela- 
tively high specific gravity of the carbon, served to sink it to 
the bottom of the universal watery envelope that finally 
covered the earth, where, under the pressure of the water, it 
formed a thin layer at the bottom of the various depressions 
in the earth’s surface. Bye and bye, volcanic action produced 
temporary fissures in the surface of the globe. Through 
these gigantic cracks, water rushed in tremendous volume 
into the bowels of the earth, carrying with it the liquid carbon. 
The intense heat converted both carbon and water into gases, 
the rents in the earth’s crust suddenly closed, and under the 
combined effects of heat, the pressure afforded by the shrink- 
age of the earth’s surface and the expansive force of the 
suddenly-formed gases, the carbon was crystallized into 
diamonds. The original atmospheric conditions favoring the 
formation of liquid carbon, have never since recurred, and 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


247 


the precious stuff is not believed to be found in nature at the 
present time. I happen to know, however, that it does exist 
at the bottom of the deep seas — I have often asserted its 
existence, and, while I cannot prove it, no one has thus far 
successfully contradicted me.’ 

“‘But,’ I said, ‘how is all this going- to benefit me, if 
there is no more liquid carbon to be found? Where shall I 
obtain that most essential feature of your process of diamond 
making?’ 

“‘Manufacture it, you silly fellow!’ Skully replied, with 
a pitying smile. ‘The process is a very simple one. Take 
a cut-glass bowl — which is preferable to an ordinary glass 
vessel on account of its superior brilliancy — and fill it two- 
thirds full of aqua volcancR^ which is the most powerful 
known absorbent of the sun’s rays.’ 

“‘Yes,’ I said eagerly, meanwhile writing away in my 
note book for dear life. — 

“ ‘ You now stand the bowl in the sun for six hours, tak- 
ing care to get the benefit of the meridian rays. You then 
pour the fluid carbon into glass-stoppered bottles and set it in 
a cool place until you are ready to use it.’ 

“ ‘I’m greatly obliged to you, Skully, Pm sure,’ I said, as 
I gleefully closed my note book. 

“ ‘Pray, don’t mention it!’ he replied, warmly. 

“Alas! Why did I not ask my learned friend what aqua 
volcance was? I supposed that the didactic lecture which he 
gave me, was like all other scientific lectures, and I could look 
up all the big words afterwards ! 

“Ah! my boy, a little knowledge is at least a disquieting 
thing. — 

“ ‘By the way, Skully,’ I said, ‘before you leave the sub- 
ject of diamond making, I should like to ask you a question. 
Why are diamonds found almost altogether in certain local- 
ities, such as India, South Africa and Brazil?’ 

“ ‘ Oh, ’ he replied, ‘ that is easily explained ; those regions 
are so near Hades, you know. It was in such localities that 
volcanic action in prehistoric times, was most marked, and 
consequently, ’twas in such localities that the heat and pres- 


248 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


sure elements necessary to the formation of the diamond 
were most favorable.’ 

“‘Ah!’ I exclaimed, ‘the intimate relation existing* be- 
tween Hell and the diamond, explains some very queer 
things!”’ 

“ ‘I have been greatly amused of recent years,’ said the 
skull, ‘by the conceit of some of your modern inventors. 
You brag about the achievements of Edison, as though he 
were a demigod. He, a great inventor? Save the mark! I 
mention Edison, merely because he is a fair sample of your 
up-to-date inventors — I have no especial antipathy toward 
him.’ 

“‘Well,’ I retorted, with some irritation, ^ co7iceit does 
not seem to be a modern institution altogether — unless, of 
course, you can show that is of recent acquirement.’ 

“ ‘Now, doctor,’ replied Skully, ‘must I include repartee 
in the list of accomplishments, which, in you, are chiefly dis- 
tinguished by their absence? Your sarcastic remark was 
entirely uncalled for. You will please remember sir, that I 
am not relating my history for my own edification — alas! it 
is only too familiar to me — but for your information and 
entertainment.’ 

“ ‘Pardon me, my dear friend, ’ I said, ‘I was discourteous. 
I’ll admit. But, you know, you have given me so many sur- 
prises this evening, that you mustn’t mind if I state frankly, 
that my credulity has been submitted to a very severe strain. 
I will try and control myself better, however, and demonstrate 
my hearty appreciation of your courtesy and talent, by the 
exhibition of a little more tact and self-control.’ 

“ ‘If you will stop to consider for a moment,’ the skull 
continued, ‘ you will agree with me in the view that modern 
inventors are greatly over-rated. What contributions have 
they made to the solution of the problem of perpetual motion? 
Where are your flying machines? Where are your — ’ 

“I sprang to my feet in spite of myself. 

“‘And have you ever solved the problem of perpetual 
motion, or constructed a satisfactory and practical flying 
machine?’ I asked. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


249 


“ ‘ Why, doctor, you seem astonished. I will inform you, 
sir, that I not only succeeded in accomplishing- those feats — 
which you seem to think quite remarkable — but they were 
among- the simplest problems I ever undertook to solve. 
As you seem so surprised, and I do not wish to strain your 
credulity without some attempt at explanatory detail, I will 
take the liberty of expatiating- upon them. — 

“ ‘ Like many other thing-s that are now-a-days considered 
wonderful, perpetual motion was well known to the ancients. 
The Hindees had at least a theoretical knowledg-e of the sub- 
ject, several thousand years ag-o, as you will find by reading- 
some of their old manuscripts.’ 

“ ‘ But I do not read Sanskrit,’ I said. 

“ ‘No? You surprise me, sir ! — still, the modern doctor is 
so superficial and — ’ 

“ ‘ You were saying- that the ancient Hindees knew all 
about perpetual motion,’ I interrupted, not caring- to discuss 
the weaknesses of modern medicine with my friend the skull. 

“ ‘ Oh, yes, and the Parsees were still more familiar 
with it in ancient times. It is probable that civilization was 
more advanced among- the ancient Parsees than modern 
historians believe. It is my own opinion that their fire wor- 
ship, and especially their profound veneration for the sun, 
was based upon an appreciation of the practical principles of 
physics, chemistry and electricity involved in the develop- 
ment of perpetual motion. The Parsee of the olden time was 
a practical fellow, and worshipped the thing- that was most 
useful to him here on earth. He considered his future state 
as a relig-ious luxury — a useful principle was really the 
backbone of his faith. 

“ ‘The sun, as you are well aware, is the source of all the 
heat, life, and energ-y with which this little sphere of ours is 
endowed. Scientists were a long- time in discovering- this 
fundamental truth — with which ancient so-called “heathen” 
philosophers were so familiar. 

“ ‘ The source of all energ-y must be the source of all 
motion, and as you can readily understand, all that was 
necessary to the solution of the problem of perpetual motion, 
was to so utilize the store of energ-y eternally present in the 


250 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


sun, as to secure a constant supply of it at some given point 
upon the earth’s surface. To accomplish this, I followed a 
very simple procedure. — 

“ ‘ Having satisfied myself that heat, light, motion and 
electricity were co-related and inter-convertible — a fact which 
later scientists finally accepted— I determined to construct a 
machine that should not only combine these different yet 
similar agents, but gather them from the very fountain-head 
of life itself — the sun. 

‘“Acting upon this idea, I constructed some powerful 
copper-coil-wrapped magnets, and exposed them to the rays 
of the sun. Realizing that much light and heat was lost 
because of the relatively small area upon which the sun’s rays 
fell, I arranged a series of reflectors and condensers that 
enabled me to obtain the heat and light in large quantity — not 
intensity, mind you, for the magnets would have melted. I 
succeeded in this way in getting a degree of illumination so 
powerful, that it was possible to project the rays through 
solid and apparently hopelessly opaque substances. I might 
remark, incidentally, that the principle which I discovered 
was utilized in medicine and surgery for diagnostic purposes. 
With my light, it was possible to so illuminate the human 
body that it was perfectly diaphanous at the point of contact 
of the rays. The way in which the coffin nails showed up in 
the cirrhotic liver, was a marvel to the old timers.* 

“ ‘I understand that some German savant has recently 
been playing with a toy which he claims has properties similar 
to my invention, but I assure you it will be a signal failure 
— he has no mechanism by which the distance of projection 
of the rays can be either measured or controlled. As a 
consequence of this defect, the rays from his apparatus 
will so penetrate the very objects he desires to discover, 
that the body will be a mass of homogeneous transparency — 
objects beyond the body may be seen, but objects within it, 
never.’ 

“I was about to argue this point with my somewhat ped- 
antic and monumentally conceited friend, but he went on with 

♦Curiously enough, Skiilly’s remarks do not seem so wildly absurd as at the time 
the above was written.— Author. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


251 


his rhodomontade so rapidly that the opportunity did not 
present itself. This was just as well, perhaps, for a knowl- 
edg-e of the fallacy of his criticism of the Roentg-en ray, mig-ht 
have wounded his vanity, besides, Skully probably knew 
nothing- about bullets and such thing's. I therefore held my 
peace and he continued his remarkable narrative. — * 

“ ‘ My invention was also utilized by the police. I con- 
structed a dark lantern, which, when suddenly flashed upon 
a malefactor, enabled the officer to read a culprit’s inmost 
thoughts. It also afforded a delicate method for searching 
the clothing for concealed property, incriminating evidence 
and deadly weapons. This property of the machine was 
afterward monopolized by the revenue service — for the es- 
pecial benefit of lady smugglers. 

“ ‘ The energy which I condensed in my magnets, so 
intensified their quality of induction, that an enormous 
quantity of latent electricity was stored up in the multitud- 
inous coils of the apparatus — indeed, so great was the quantity 
that it was practically inexhaustible after a single exposure, 
although, to make assurance doubly sure, I used to expose the 
thermo-electric magneto-condensers to the sun’s rays about 
twice a month. 

“ ‘All that was necessary to utilize the power of the 
machine, was an arrangement of smooth, wire-bearing copper 
plates, which were placed at convenient distances around the 
apparatus. By a series of small reflectors, the electrical 
energy was made to impinge in the desired quantity, directly 
upon the plates at the ends of the distributing wires. 

“ ‘By a special arrangement of the receiving plates, and 
a duplication of wires, our patrons — I started a company you 
know — could be supplied with heat, light, power, or plain 
electricity.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, but how about the perpetual motion?’ I asked. 

“ ‘Well, you see, our contracts with subscribers did not 
call for that— we reserved the right to cut off their supply 
whenever their remittances were in default. As for the 

*This qualification was necessitated by the discovery of the “X ray,” nearly two 
months after the skull’s claims were set forth. The skull’s “ridiculous” rhodomontade 
was presented to several eminent gentlemen in the Chicago profession at that time. I 
had in mind the modern experiments in “ electro-gastroscopy.” — Author. 


252 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


-principle of perpetual motion, we kept that in operation and 
on exhibition, at the central source of supply. It consisted 
of an immense vibrator, something’ like that little buzzer on 
the modern battery.’ 

“ ‘ You mean the Faradic rheotome,’ I sug-g-ested. 

“‘Yes, I suppose I do, thoug-h I’m somewhat rusty on 
electrical nomenclature,’ replied the skull. 

“ ‘ Well, Skully,’ I said, ‘ your plan is certainly reasonable 
— which is more than I can say of my g*as and coal bills — and 
I shall take it into serious consideration. I may conclude to 
form a stock company, which, if you will consent to accept its 
presidency, will, I am sure, surpass any other soulless cor- 
poration on the face of the earth. Personally, I shall be g’lad 
to throw my own g-as meter into the street — it’s a fast little 
creature anyhow, and unfit for association with modest, refined 
people. I mig-ht remark in passing-, my dear friend, that if 
your scheme for perpetual motion surpasses my g-as meter, 
the problem is solved beyond peradventure of doubt.’ 

“‘It may be somewhat hazardous to claim so much for 
my machine, doctor, but I really feel confident it will 
even bear comparison with your g-as meter. You see, m}^ 
apparatus has this advantag-e; it is self reg-enerating-, and 
when not in use, is storing- up energ-y, without expense, while 
your g-as meter, though g-aining- g-round all the time, is never- 
theless losing- its benefits to the consumer, even when the 
supply is not in use.’ 

“ ‘Skully,’ I cried, ‘you have a g-reat head for mechanics 
and thing’s ! ’ 

“The skull bowed, with the prettiest pretense of blush- 
ing- confusion imag-inable. 

“ ‘By the way, Skully,’ I said, ‘a question occurs to me. 
Your machine must wear out in time. What then becomes 
of the “ perpetual ” feature of the motion it supplies ? ’ 

“ ‘You silly fellow!’ exclaimed the skull, ‘of course the 
machine wears out, but that doesn’t affect the principle in the 
least! Any interruption is then the fault of the machine. I 
did not say that I had invented an indestructible, eternally- 
lasting' 7nachine — I simply claimed to have solved the problem 
of perpetual motion. Don’t you understand ? ’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


253 


“ ‘Um — ah — I think I do,’ I replied, with a vag-ue impres- 
sion that my friend the skull had evaded the issue.” 


‘'‘Now, as to flying machines,’ said the skull, blandly, 
‘they are mere child’s play.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, so I have always regarded them,’ I replied. 

“Skully glanced at me sharply, and said — 

“‘I hardly think you caught my meaning, sir — I meant 
that their construction is a matter easy of accomplishment.’ 

“‘Ah, indeed!’ I answered, ‘I evidently did not quite 
grasp the idea your expression was intended to convey. So, 
flying machines are easy to construct, are they? How plen- 
tiful they must have been in your day!’ 

“ ‘Plentiful! — I should say they were!’ replied the skull. 
‘They were as numerous and popular as are bicycles in this 
effete age. Everybody had his own machine, and a fellow 
was not considered high-toned and in the swim unless he 
owned one.’ 

“ ‘How interesting!’ I said. ‘You seem to consider that 
the invention of a practical flying machine was a trifling thing, 
but I assure you that boundless fame and fortune await the 
man who shall invent one in this day and generation. It is a 
very difficult matter to obtain a material for their construc- 
tion that combines lightness and strength in the necessary 
proportions. Of w^hat did you make your machine?’ 

“ ‘ We made them of a high metal — gold,’ replied Skully, 
suavely. 

“‘Of gold!’ I exclaimed; ‘why, the specific gravity of 
gold is’ — 

“ ‘ Your scientific knowledge blinds you to some practical 
facts,’ said the skull, hastily interrupting. ‘There’s nothing 
that flies like gold. Now, if you will observe the United 
States treasury for a while’ — 

“‘That will do, Skully, that will do!’ I interposed, ‘I 
may be spoiling a good thing, but it is high time I called your 
attention to the fact that you, yourself, are much wiser than 
witty. It is hardly necessary for you to expatiate further 
upon the construction of flying machines. You, of course, 



“ ‘Oh, yes,’ replied the skull; ‘I used one in making- my 
calls, both professional and social. You cannot imagine how 


254 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

have had considerable experience with them and are familiar 
with the technique of their operation and manag-ement. — ’ 


A GONDOLA OF THE AIR. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


255 


convenient it was, when I desired to call upon my lady fair, to 
g'et into my aerial cotipe and fly to her, as ’twere on wing’s of 
love ! ’ 

“ ‘ There, there, that will do, Skully ! Just limit yourself 
to practical matters for the present,’ I said, fearing- lest the 
accuracy of my friend’s narrative mig-ht be disturbed by his 
sentimental recollections — I had not forg-otten his emotional 
excitement when I alluded to matrimony. 

“ With a look of injured pride, he resumed — 

“‘I have often wondered how folks g-et along- without 
flying machines now-a-days. Suppose, for example, that on 
a rainy, muddy night, you wish to take your wife to a 
reception. You slop back and forth to your carriage ; your 
wife gets her feathers wet and her skirts bedraggled; your 
patent leathers are covered with mud, and your temper 
aroused to an indecent pitch — where’s the comfort in that? 
I presume that, like most men, you give vent to your emotions 
by quarreling with your wife, all the way to and from the 
entertainment,’ and the skull looked at me rather quizzically. 

“ ‘Now, in my day, we did things differently. Cordelia 
waited at the attic window until her swain’s air-ship arrived, 
stepped into it without her dear little foot ever touching the 
ground, and away they went.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, but supposing that, as you suggested, it was not 
only muddy, but actually raining?’ I asked. 

‘“Oh, that necessitated a little different arrangement,’ 
said Skully. Every house had an elevator for use on rainy 
days. The flying machines used to stop at the top of the 
elevators, and make their aerial voyages above the clouds. 
They were a great convenience, I assure you, my dear doctor. 
It was a pleasant reflection when one had purchased tickets 
to the theatre, to know that his sweetheart need not be dis- 
appointed, because of a nasty, miserable rainstorm.’ 

“ ‘ Why, did you have theatres in your time ? ’ I inquired. 

“ ‘ Yes indeed,’ replied Skully, ‘and by the way, theatres 
were theatres in those days I can tell you.’ 

“‘lam glad to learn that,’ I said; ‘ theatres are theatres 
only on week days in this town. They are churches on 
Sunday. It must have been nice to know just where to place 


256 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


them. You probably drew the lines more closely than we do. 
Why, if you should happen to miscalculate and enter one of 
our theatres at the wrong- time, you’d never know what kind 
of a performance you had found. The acting- is g-ood in any 
case, but a fellow g-ets confused you know. Texts, lectures, 
dramatic effects and stag-e reading- are so jumbled tog-ether 
now-a-days, that I am often puzzled to know just where I am.’ 

“‘Poor fellow!’ said the skull, sympathizing-ly, ‘that 
explains why you sleep so late on Sunday morning-sl— 

“‘But you didn’t quite g-rasp my meaning- about the 
theatres of my time. What I meant was, that our plays 
amounted to something. Our histrionic artists were realists, 
I assure you. Now, at the present time, the shallow artifices 
and transparent pretense of your actors is very disconcerting-. 
Too much is expected of the imag-ination, when one is asked 
to enjoy the counterfeit presentment of human affairs on the 
stage. Why, do you know, doctor? We actually had real 
marriages and real deaths on the stag-el’ 

“ ‘You astonish me, sir!’ I said. ‘Your story is but little 
short of marvellous, and had I not the g-reatest confidence in 
your veracity I could not accept your statements — even amt 
grano salis. How on earth did you manage to be so realistic 
in your dramatic effects?’ 

“‘Easily enough, my friend, easily enough,’ replied 
Skully — rather patronizingly, I thought. ‘Your modern 
theatrical manager, with all his shrewdness, does not utilize 
the material he has at hand. He is adept enough in convinc- 
ing the public that he has something of value, by trickery, 
but he allows his most brilliant opportunities for the pre- 
sentation of realism to escape him. 

“ ‘Your modern players are marrying and giving them- 
selves away — in marriage — getting divorced, and remarrying 
all the time — off the stage. Now, we ordered things differ- 
ently — we utilized all that raw material, and made the matri- 
monial machine and divorce mill work, not behind the scenes, 
but on the stage in plain sight. And we never ran short of 
material. 

“‘How ingenious!’ I cried. ‘But could you really get 
people to so time themselves as to die upon the stage?’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


257 


“‘No, not exactly,’ replied Skully. ‘Actors are always 
marrying-, while they seldom die, and when they do it is not 
like their marriagfes — there are no encores. We couldn’t 
have secured material enough in that way, and besides, sick 
people can’t act. They must be strong and hearty up to a 
certain point — until their stage time comes, you know. But 
we utilized healthy actors — people who didn’t feel as bad as 
they acted.’ 

“ ‘ So, you had real deaths on the stage? What a pity we 
couldn’t have such things nowadays! We have so many 
players whom we might just as well utilize for dying scenes. 
But you must have used up your stock of material very fast, 
especially if you allowed your really first-class actors to die. 
Battle scenes must have been easy to arrange — two-dollar 
“supes ” were probably plentiful — but stars must have been 
scarce, if your times were anything like the present.’ 

“ Skully smiled indulgently as he answered — 

“ ‘ The stage was indebted to me, sir, for the wonderful 
discovery which enabled the tragedies of that time, to assume 
a reality never before attained. Ten drops of my wonderful 
elixir of life poured down a dead actor’s throat, revived him 
almost instantly.’ 

“ ‘ Then invented an elixir of life, eh?’ I asked. ‘I 
had supposed that a distinguished French savant^ recently 
deceased, was the pioneer in that particular field.’ 

“ ‘ I presume you mean the late Brown Sequard,’ said the 
skull. ‘ Poor devil! — he meant well, but he was a victim of a 
delusion. The frolicsome glee of the little lambkin gambolling 
away his innocent, almost ephemeral life on the sunny slopes 
of la belle France, was a hollow mockery and a snare. Why 
didn’t Se'quard think of the tortoise?’ — and my bony philos- 
opher sighed, as though in sympathy with the motive, even 
though contemptuous of the results, of the lamented ornament 
to medical science. 

“ ‘ Your elixir vitce must indeed have been wonderful,’ I 
said, ‘and I hope I may prevail upon you to give me its 
formula — some day when we have leisure to enter into the 
mysteries of its composition and manufacture with sufficient 
thoroughness.’ 



258 OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“‘Ah! my dear doctor, you know not what you ask!’ 
exclaimed my interesting- friend. ‘ The ancient fakir, who, 
in the midst of the self-imposed solitude of his weird and 
gloomy cave among those sacred mountains where rises the 
holy Ganges, imparted the secret of its manufacture to me, 
exacted a solemn, terrible and inviolable oath, that I would 

never reveal 
it to mortal 
man! 


A FAKIR OF THE OLDEN TIME. 


“ ‘The venerable fakir is long since dead, and wrapped 
in the holy embrace of Brahma. But perchance he might 
even yet, invoke the wrath of the mighty gods, Siva and 
Durga, upon the defenseless and hairless head of yours 
truly. I do not fancy my soul being placed under a jugger- 
naut. Doctor, I am not coy, but conservative. Even though 
I dared to give you the formula, I should be compelled to 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


259 



write it out for you, and when written ’twould be useless. 
Those ancient hierog-lyphs which I found on the walls of the 
sacred temple of Vishnu at the holy city of Benares, would 
be unintelligible to you, and besides, you say you do not read 
Sanskrit. ’ 

“ ‘ Did I under- 
stand you to say that 
you got the secret 
from a fakir?’ I in- 
quired, being not in 
the least awestrick- 
en by the origin of 
the wonderful elixir. 

“ ‘ Yes, from an 
Indian fakir,’ he re- 
plied. 

“‘Well then, old 
fellow, I guess you 
need not trouble 
yourself to give me 
the formula. I don’t 
believe that fakirs 
have changed much 
in the last few hun- 
dred years. We have 
some that are prac- 
ticing medicine at 
the present time, 
who are great on 
elixirs and such 
things. Now, in 
Washington, for in- 
stance — ’ 

..C'l 11 j YE MODERN FAKIR. 

“Skully made a 

most profound and reverential salaam, and whispered in ter- 
rified accents — 

“ ‘ For the love of Buddha, mention not that awful name! 
He is the king of all the fakirs, and thou shalt not take his 
name in vain! Not on your — well, not on your life! My 


260 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


elixir, ’tis true, was the secret, mag’ic drop of the ancient 
king's of Eg-ypt; it was the source of the ancient miracles 
of raising- the dead, but it must not be mentioned in the 
same breath, with the wonderful discoveries of that mig-hty 
and omniscient king- who sitteth on his royal throne in 
Washing-ton!’ 

“It was decidedly my turn to be patronizing: 

“ ‘ Oh, well, ’ I said, sy mpathizingly, ‘ all is not yet lost. I, 
too, have a secret, and as you have been so kind as to give me 
so much valuable information, I will give you the lost arcana — 
the secret of the royal elixir. Give me your ear — no, I mean 
your aural aperture.’ — 

“As he leaned toward me I whispered the magic word — 

“ ‘ Nitro-glycerin ! ’ 

“ ‘Well, I’ll — be — blowedl’ cried the skull.’’ 


“ ‘ There’s one thing in medicine that has somewhat sur- 
prised me, Skully,’ I said. ‘ We have as yet no accurate test 
for death. We modern doctors have often entertained the 
horrible suspicion that burial alive is not so uncommon as 
some suppose. Our patients even, are often tormented with 
the dread of that horrible fate. Now, there is one old lady 
among my patients who worries me almost to the verge of 
distraction, by her fears of a living burial. When she drives 
me into a corner, and asks me whether I have any infallible 
test to prove that life no longer exists in supposedly dead 
people, I have hard work to hold my own in the discussion. 
As you have practiced medicine, possibly you can enlighten 
me.’ 

“I fancied the skull had a somewhat sarcastic gleam in 
his ball-less orbits as he replied — 

‘“You are giving yourself a great deal of unnecessary 
worry, my dear friend. You are perfectly safe in assuring 
the poor old lady that your patients are never buried alive. I 
am sure that you are quite as expert as was I, in my day, and 
I will wager anything you like, that such an accident never 
happened in my practice. You mustn’t take things so seri- 
ously to heart, doctor. Be calm and placid like myself, and 
you’ll live longer and be much happier. Of course, I cannot 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


261 


take life as easy — well, as easy as I did when I was a doctor, 
but I g-et along- fairly well.’ 

“And my bony confrere never cracked a smile. So seri- 
ous did he look, that I did not dare ask him what he meant, 
though I was wondering- all the while what the deuce he did 
mean.” 


“ ‘ I suppose that your inventive genius was very valuable 
to you, and also to the profession,’ I said, after I had recov- 
ered from the mental haziness into which Skully’s last 
remarks had thrown me. 

“‘You may well believe they were valuable, my dear 
doctor. It would take entirely too long to tell you all of the 
wonderful additions I made to medical and surgical science. 
I assure you,however, that some of your so-called “advanced ” 
notions of the treatment of disease are really the legitimate 
offspring of my own prodigious brain. 

“ ‘ Take, for instance, the modern treatment of tubercu- 
losis. Why, sir, I used to curette the lungs and pack the 
diseased cavities with antiseptic gauze three hundred years 
ago! And I did not open the chest either; I operated via the 
trachea and bronchial tubes!’ 

“‘Oh, see here, Skully!’ I exclaimed, impatiently, ‘you 
are going too far ! ’ 

“ ‘Am I, indeed?’ he retorted. ‘Let me ask you a few 
questions, sir: 

“‘Is curetting and packing tuberculous cavities good 
treatment?’ 

“ ‘It is,’ I replied. 

“ ‘And do you believe in evolution?’ 

“ ‘ I do, most certainly.’ 

“ ‘Very well, then. What is there inconsistent, chimer- 
ical, or illogical about my method? Do you know anything 
about the capacity of the human trachea and bronchi in those 
days, or any of the peculiarities of the people of my clientele?' 

“ I was forced to admit that I did not. 

“ ‘Then,’ said the skull, ‘as you are not in a position to 
criticise, you had best reserve your discussion of my method 
until you have secured some data upon the subject. Pray do 


262 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

not forget, sir, that I am a “ Has-been ’’—and a very remote 
one at that,’ 

“‘Well,’ I said, ‘you are frank and honest, to say the 
least, which is more than I can say of some of our modern 
“ Has-beens. ” They claim fully as much skill and knowledge 
as you do, but without equal reason. But you are unlike 
them in one particular that is even more important. You 
have been dead for many years and know it — indeed, you 
honestly confess it. For this, I commend and respect you. 
How different is the profession of to-day ! Why, I know 
some fellows who have been dead for years, and years, 
and either do not know it, or, what is worse, will not 
acknowledge it!’ 

“‘And do they show evidences of death at the top, 
like me?’ 

“ ‘ They do,’ I replied. 

“ ‘And is it from those “Has-been ” fellows, who won’t 
“ fess up,” that the modern term “ dead head ” is derived? ’ 

“ ‘ No, I believe not,’ I answered, laughing in spite of 
myself, ‘ There’s another word that is now quite generally 
used — we call them “ Nestors.” ’ 

“‘Why, we used that term, too,’ replied the skull, ‘but 
in my day it meant a wise man. I believe Homer sang about 
a sage of that name long before my second advent.’ 

“‘Well,’ I retorted, ‘you seem to have done a great 
many things better in your day than we moderns do. You 
complained of our careless use of the old and honorable title 
of “doctor,” but if you could see some of the “Has-beens” of 
science and letters to whom we apply the term “Nestor,” 
your heart — I mean your head, would break.’ ” 

“ ‘Speaking of the treatment of tuberculosis of the lungs,’ 
I remarked, ‘we have a brand-new treatment that bids fair 
to become quite popular.’ 

“‘Popular? Yes, and it’s likely to prove successful, 
too, for, if I am not mistaken, you refer to the treatment by 
injection of immunized horse serum, or something like that. 
If my memory serves me correctly, I heard you discussing 
the method with Dr. M the other evening. Well, doctor. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


263 


I regret to say that I must also prick that bubble— so far as 
its orig-inality is concerned. Paquin is a brig-ht fellow 
enoug-h, and the treatment is likely to prove a success, even 
in his hands, but it’s a revival of an old method of mine, just 
the same.’ 

“ ‘Well, sir,’ I exclaimed, ‘g-o rig-ht on. with your monop- 
olizing-! You’ll claim to have built Noah’s ark next’ 

‘Oh, no,’ he replied, ‘my recollection does not g-o back 

quite so far as that. You’ll have to ask your friend. Dr. K , 

about the ark.’ . 

“ ‘And what does K know about it?’ 

“‘Why, don’t — you — know?’ asked Skully, amazedly, 

‘K was there. You mig-ht know that from the larg-e 

assortment of ancient, mummified dates he carries about with 
him.’ 

“ ‘ How the deuce do you know K , anyhow?’ I asked, 

with some impatience, ‘he’s no Buddhist’ 

“ ‘True, he’s no Buddhist — nobody knows just what he 
is from that standpoint, so far as I know, but if you will 
listen carefully to his scientific and historical data, you’ll find 
evidence enoug-h to prove that he, too, belong-s to the “Second- 
Time-on-Earth ” club’ — and Skully bowed in respect for that 
wonderful man whose data extend so far back into the dim 
and musty past, that the memory of none of the “immortals’’ 
of the Academy e’er runneth to the contrary.* 

“‘But, with reference to the horse-serum treatment of 
pulmonary tuberculosis,’ I said, ‘you were saying- — ’ 

“ ‘Reg-arding- the horse-serum treatment, I was about to 
remark, that it is to be hoped the doctors of to-day will have 
better luck with the method than I did.’ 

“ ‘ Was it, then, unsuccessful in your hands?’ I asked. 

“ ‘ On the contrary, it was successful beyond my wildest 
dreams — in fact, it was too successful, and that proved to be 
the chief objection to it.’ 

* I ask the indulgence of those readers who have never attended the sessions 
of the Chicago Academy of Medicine. To the initiated, it is hardly necessary to 
introduce the authority to whom the skull referred Doctor Weymouth. Be it 

remarked that a sincere and well deserved compliment to Dr. K is really implied 

by the dialogue between Skully and the story-teller. Should Dr. K resent the 

personality indulged in, he must remember that even a walking encyclopaedia cannot 
hope to escape the vengeance of those whom he has routed from their fortresses of 
self-conceit. I believe that K will acknowledge himself treed— for once.— Author. 


264 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ Why, how could that be ? You must have been a queer 
sort of a doctor,’ said 1. ‘We are only too well pleased, in 
these modern days, to find remedies for disease that will stand 
the test of time and experience.’ 

“ ‘ So it was with us, my dear doctor, ’ replied Skully, with 
a queer, satirical expression illuminating- his face, and finally 
ending- in a curious wrinkling- of the bony plates about his 
temporal reg-ions. ‘ The trouble was not with my remedy, but 
with my selection of cases, and orig-inal modifications of the 
method.’ 

“‘I made the interesting- discovery, that the personal 
characteristics of the animal from whom the curative serum 



AN ALIENATOR OF THE AFFECTIONS. 


was taken, seriously modified the result in the subject inocu- 
lated. I did not discover this fact, however, until I had made 
several mistakes, that would have been ludicrous, had they 
not been so serious. 

“ ‘ When I first beg-an the serum treatment, I was under 
the impression that any animal related to the equine species 
would answer as the donor of the serum. I even went so far 
as to believe that the mule — that sad-eyed, pensive, half- 
brother of the horse, would answer the purpose. 

“‘I chang-ed my mind, however, after I had a few mal- 
practice suits on my hands. I shall never forg-et one annoy- 
ing- case, in which a woman broug-ht suit ag-ainst me for 
having- alienated her husband’s affections by filling- his veins 
full of mule serum. I don’t know exactly how that confounded 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


265 


mule sap acted, but the old lady made thing’s mig’hty lively 
for me for awhile. She claimed her husband had become so 
stubborn that she could nolong-er manag’e him, to say nothing 
of his tendency to bray on badly selected occasions. He 
was like that deluded cat who swallowed the canary bird — he 
fondly fancied he could sing-.’ 

“‘Well,’ I said, in g-reat amusement, ‘if your method 
acted as a disturber of the domestic happiness of your clien- 
tele I am not at all surprised that you g-ot yourself in trouble. 
Still, the same principle that acted so unfortunately in the 
case you have mentioned, should have been invaluable in 
properly selected cases, and with the proper kind of serum.’ 

“‘Exactly,’ replied Skully; ‘I made the same practical 
deduction from my clinical experiments, and followed the 
treatment along- the lines sug-g-ested, but, alas! like many 
another pioneer in science, I fell a victim to my own enthu- 
siasm. 

“ ‘It so happened that my practice was to a g’reat extent 
limited to people of the upper class — real aristocrats, you 
know. 

“ ‘Among- my clientele was a noble family whose practice 
was not only valuable to me, but whose patronag-e g-ave me 
unbounded social prestige and g-reat influence in court and 
church circles. 

“ ‘The only son and heir of this family, the young- duke 

of X , was, as might be surmised, the pride of his 

parents. Upon him they had built their hopes of the succes- 
sion and future glory of their noble house. 

“ ‘But alas! the bacillus tuberculosis is ever on the alert 
for noble prey, and, in an evil hour, it seized upon the young 
duke ! 

“ ‘ To say I was embarrassed at the necessity of inform- 
ing the family of the presence of the dread monster in the 
lungs of their darling son, would barely express the emotions 
that agitated my tender bosom after the discovery of the 
disease in my noble patient!’ 

“ ‘But, my dear Skully,’ I said, ‘the bacillus tuberculosis 
is a mode7'n discovery. Koch’ — 


266 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ Great heavens, doctor! Will you never be done wdth 
your skepticism? Pray do not mention that impudent, noisy 
humbug-, Koch, in my presence ag-ain! He is an impostor, 
pure and simple. Tuberculo-bug-olog-y was known a hundred 
years before Confucius. It was really ag-ainst the terrible 
tubercle bacillus that the Chinese “stink-pot” was first 
employed.’ 

“‘Really!’ I exclaimed, ‘I understand now, why iodo- 
form ’ — 

“ ‘Precisely so; you see at once the absurdity of some of 
your jin de siecle notions of scientific orig-inality. 

“ ‘But, to return to my noble patient: 

“‘I assured his parents, that, while I did not desire to 
underrate the importance of the case, and realized perfectly 
that it would inevitably prove fatal in other and less skillful 
hands than my own, I felt certain that under my treatment 
their dear son would recover. ’ 

“ ‘ Of course,’ I remarked, ‘ you cong-ratulated them upon 
their judicious selection of a physician, and complimented 
them on their g-ood fortune in escaping^ the nets of the other 
prominent physicians of your locality. You doubtless also 
explained to them the diag-nostic stupidity and therapeutical 
incapacity of your alleg-ed competitors.’ 

“ ‘Well, I’ll — be — trephined!’ exclaimed Skully, ‘Doctor, 
are you a mind reader?’ 

“‘By no means, sir,’ I modestly replied, ‘but you were 
so thoroug-hly up to date in your practice, that I quite natur- 
urally anticipated the ethical points you were about to make. 
But g-o on with your clinical report, my dear Skully, and par- 
don the interruption.’ 

“ ‘It is hardly necessary to state that the parents of the 
young- duke g'ladly availed themselves of my wonderful skill, 
and expressed their willing-ness to submit him to any plan of 
treatment I mig-ht sug-g-est. As a matter of course, any other 
treatment than my horse-serum method was not to be thoug-ht 
of. I therefore requested that my disting-uished patient be 
sent to my private sanatarium, where I could personally 
supervise the treatment. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


267 


“ ‘ With that intuitive sense of dang-er of the taint of 
plebeian blood which the born aristocrat always possesses, 
the mother of the patient objected to my using- serum drawn 
from the veins of an ordinary horse. To pacify the haug-hty 
dame, I volunteered to prepare an animal of the hig-hest birth 
and breeding, especially for her son’s case. 

“‘I chanced to be something of a horse fancier myself, 
and was the proud possessor of some fine, blooded animals. 
Among them was a trotter that had a record of two-five-and- 
a-quarter — ’ 

“ ‘Hold on there, Skully!’ I cried, ‘not so fast, please — 
did you say two-five-and-a-quarter ?’ 

“‘That’s what I said, doctor,’ answered Skully with 
some embarrassment. ‘ I acknowledge that his record might 
have been better, but he was faster than any other doctor’s 
horse in my town, and was really as good as I could afford to 
keep. Indeed, he was too fast, as the sequel proved. — 

“ ‘I determined to immunize my favorite steed, and sub- 
mitted my plan to the duke’s parents. They were well 
satisfied with my charger’s pedigree — which I had traced 
back to the proto-hippus of the pliocene era — and seemed 
delighted by the interest I took in their son’s case. 

“ ‘ The young man went through his course of treatment 
without the slightest unfavorable symptom, and returned to 
his parents apparently perfectly cured.’ 

“ ‘ Well, you surely couldn’t ask more than that!’ I said. 
‘You should have been proud of your achievement, sir. I 
presume that the remarkable result gave your practice quite 
a boom.’ 

“‘Alas! so one might naturally suppose,’ answered 
Skully, with a long-drawn, melancholy sigh, ‘ but the case 
proved disastrous to me before I had done with it.’ 

“ ‘Why, how was that, Skully?’ I asked, in great surprise. 

“ ‘ It came about through a most unforeseen combination 
of fortuitous circumstances,’ replied the skull. ‘A fellow 
from England came over to the continent with a string of 
thoroughbreds, and instituted a series of trotting races. 
The young duke happened to attend one of them, and within 


268 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

three days he had ruined his family and turned defaulter in 
large amount!’ 

“ ‘ Yes, my dear Skully, but there is nothing remarkable 
about that — it has happened many times. Besides, I don’t see 
what your treatment had to do with it.’ 

“ The skull fairly groaned, as though my stupidity gave 
him pain. 

“‘My dear doctor,’ he said impatiently, ‘didn’t I tell 
you that the characteristics of the animal from which the 
serum was taken, were imparted to the person receiving the 
treatment?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, I believe you did.’ 

“ ‘And did I not also say that my horse had a record?’ 

“ ‘ Such was my impression,’ I replied. 

“‘Then why are you so obtuse?’ cried Skully, ‘The 
duke' went broke making books on himself!’ 

“‘Ah! I see,’ I replied, ‘the young man had literary 
aspirations.’ 

“ The skull looked at me steadily for a moment and then 
muttered something, which, I fancied, sounded much like 
‘hypocrite!’ or ‘idiot!’ His meaning, however, escaped me. 

“ ‘Well, Skully,’ I said, ‘ turn about is fair play. Animals 
derive many bad traits from association with human beings, 
and it is rather interesting to know they sometimes get even.’ 

“‘Yes, doctor, that is true,’ replied the disconsolate 
Skully, ‘and by the way, do you know that the most remark- 
able studies of human-like traits in animals have been made 
by a layman?’ 

“‘No, I was not aware of it,’ I replied. ‘Who was the 
illustrious savant?^ 

“ ‘ Why, my friend Carter, of the Tribune,'' said the skull 
proudly. ‘ Do you know him?’ 

“ ‘ N — no, I don’t believe I do. Pray, what did he dis- 
cover?’ I asked. 

“ ‘Oh, I couldn’t begin to tell you all he has discovered; 
but ’twas he who wrote that celebrated clinical treatise on 
“Inebriety in turtles.” ’ 

“ ‘ What! — inebriety in turtles? What the dev what— 

are — you — talking — about, anyhow, Skully?’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


269 


“ ‘ Now see here, doctor,’ said the skull,seriously, ‘ if you 
are going- to hold me responsible for your own lamentable™ 
illiteracy, I may as well stop talking.’ 

“ ‘Oh, well,’ I said, with sublime resignation and remark- 
able self-control, ‘let us have the story if there is one.’ 

“ ‘With pleasure,’ replied the skull, evidently somewhat 
mollified by my evident submission to the inevitable. 

“ ‘It seems that Carter has a friend living on a farm a 
little way from town, who frequently asks him to visit his 
place over Sunday. 

“ ‘ This friend is a cojinoisseur of the good things of life, 
and has a cellar well-stocked with the finest of liquid enjoy- 
ment. Nobody appreciates a well-appointed cellar, better 
than my friend Carter. He has reason to appreciate this 
particular cellar, for his friend always gives him a pass key 
to the heavenly regions — which lie below in this case— as soon 
as he arrives on Saturday night. 

“ ‘It chanced that one evening, while Carter was trying 
to equalize his capacity with the quantity of good things the 
cellar contained, he saw as remarkable a sight as was ever 
beheld by human eyes. 

“ ‘As he stood quietly in the shadow of a large pile of 
casks and boxes of cognac and other precious fluids in the 
corner of the cellar, wondering when his thirst would cease — 
and hoping that it would never do so — he heard a peculiar 
noise at the outside entrance of the cellar. 

“‘The door of this entrance, which communicated with 
the garden at the side of the house, had been left open for 
purposes of ventilation. Leading from this door down into 
the cellar, was an inclined plane of boards, evidently designed 
to facilitate the sliding of casks into the repository below. 

“ ‘As Carter, attracted by the disturbance, looked toward 
the aperture, he saw, sliding down the incline, the queerest 
tobogganning party ever heard of. 

“ ‘First, came the house cat, a huge mottled fellow of the 
Thomas breed. In his mouth was a large rabbit, evidently 
dead and oblivious to his surroundings. Behind the cat was 
a large turtle,of the snapping variety. The cat’s tail was in 



270 OVER THE HOOKAH. 


the turtle’s mouth, and the cat was evidently enacting- the 
role of draught horse for his carapacious companion. 

“ ‘As Thomas started down the incline, he dropped the 


THEREBY HANGS— A TURTLE. 


rabbit, which rolled to the cellar floor — then, swinging about, 
proceeded to back down the incline, thus gently lowering the 
turtle to the bottom. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


271 


“ ‘When the odd-looking- couple reached the floor of the 
cellar, the turtle released his hold upon the cat’s tail and lav 
perfectly still — the cat meanwhile disappearing. 

“ ‘As you might suppose, Carter’s curiosity was aroused, 
and he resolved to follow the cat and see what he was about. 

“‘Thomas, apparently all unconscious of our friend’s 
presence, stalked majestically over to a whisky barrel that 
lay in a far corner of the cellar. 

Mounting the barrel, the cat proceeded to extract the 
bung with his teeth. He then deliberately inserted his tail 
through the bunghole into the liquor! 

“ ‘Having thoroughly saturated his “wick-ed” tail with 
the whisky, the cat leaped to the floor, returned to the ex- 
pectant turtle, and, to Carter’s astonishment, proceeded to 
draw his caudal appendage repeatedly through his compan- 
ion’s gaping mouth! 

“ ‘Again and again, the cat repeated his trips to the cask, 
and returning, attended to the thirst of the turtle, who finally 
rolled over upon his back as drunk as any lord ! 

“‘Thomas seemed to be considerably annoyed by his 
companion’s lack of staying power, but immediately set to 
work to arouse him. The turtle finally managed to stagger 
to his feet again, and after apparently begging for another 
drink, which the cat peremptorily refused to procure for 
him, he again affixed himself to the cat’s tail. 

“ ‘ The turtle, in his maudlin enthusiasm, evidently over- 
did the thing this time, for the cat yowled with pain in spite 
of himself, and scrambled up the incline and out of the cellar 
door, with more speed than grace. 

“‘After a short time the cat returned, and with a 
“meow!’’ of satisfaction, picked up the rabbit and dis- 
appeared behind some rubbish in an obscure corner of the 
cellar. ’ 

“ ‘How remarkable!’ I cried, ‘but did Carter ever learn 
where the cat got the rabbit?’ 

“ ‘ Yes,’ replied Skully, ‘and therein lies the meat of the 
story. It seems that the turtle killed the rabbit.’ 

“‘What! the turtle killed the rabbit? Why, that’s 
impossible!’ I said, ‘Who ever heard of such a thing?’ 


272 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“‘Excuse me, doctor,’ said Skully, with great dig-nity^ 
‘ but my friend Carter is a man of honor, sir, and I cannot 
allow his statements to be impeached.’ 

“ ‘ Oh well, Skully, we won’t arg-ue about your friend 
Carter’s veracity,’ I said, ‘ Finish your story, please.’ 

“ ‘ The turtle caught his rabbits in a very ingenious and 
business-like fashion,’ continued the skull. ‘He lay in wait 
on the top of a hay-cock out in the field, and, as the rabbits 
passed by, dropped down upon them and killed them by biting 
them at the base of the skull — through the medulla, you know. 

“ ‘ Turtles, as you are well aware, do not eat rabbits, but 
this particular turtle had an object in view, as Carter had 
already discovered. Learning that cats were fond of rabbits, 
the turtle had struck a bargain with Thomas, and was trading 
his prey for booze.’ 

“‘By the way, Skully,’ I said, ‘how did you ever get 
acquainted with that man Carter ? ’ 

“ ‘ I was introduced to him at the Press Club, just after I 
came to this city,’ replied the skull. 

“ ‘ Why, how can that be?’ I asked. ‘The old sailor who 
gave — I mean introduced, you tome, said that he brought you 
from China with him.’ 

“ ‘Well, he lied, that’s all,’ said the skull, indignantly, ‘I 
came over from Canton, it is true, but he didn’t bring me. I 
came over in a chest of tea as a stowaway.’ 

“ ‘ How did he know your history then ?’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Why, I told it to him; more’s the pity. He was such 
a coarse fellow too! You see, doctor,’ said Skully, apologeti- 
cally, ‘ I was full of — well, you know, that paste. It always 
makes me loquacious, and I sometimes forget myself when I 
have taken it.’ — 

“ ‘ The story you have told me about your friend Carter’s 
wonderful contribution to science, is all well enough as a 
digression, Skully,’ I said, ‘but I am anxious to learn some- 
thing more which may be useful to me in my medical studies. 
You doubtless might enlighten me on some very obscure 
points. For example, I should like to know whether you ever 

succeeded in curing that hete noir of modern surgery 

cancer.’ 



cancer, for a period of at least ten years. And yet, we had 
as many cases among- us, as you have to-day.’ 

“ ‘Ah!’ I exclaimed, as I hurriedly reached for my note 
book and pencil. ‘What was your method of treatment?’ 

“‘Well, sir,’ he replied, ‘we recog-nized the important 
fact that cancer was a blood disease, and treated it on rational 
principles by removing* the vitiated, poisoned blood.’ 


“NO PATIENT so TREATED EVER DIED OF CANCER.’’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 273 


“‘lam g-lad you have mentioned the subject of cancer, 
my dear doctor. To be frank with you, I am ashamed of the 
results of all the present systems of treatment. Cancer was 
with us, one of the most controllable of diseases. I should 

like to show you 
the reports of the 
bureau of vital 
statistics of my 
old town — why, 
you couldn’t find 
a sing-le recorded 
case of death from 


274 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘And pray, how much did you usually remove?’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Three quarts,’ answered the skull. 

“ ‘Three quarts!’ I exclaimed, ‘and what was your per- 
centag'e of cures?’ 

“‘One hundred per cent,’ replied my friend, blandly. 
‘No patient so treated was ever known to die of cancer. ’ 

“‘And how did you restore the equilibrium of the cir- 
culation?’ I asked, with the true scientific spirit of thoroug-h 
investigation. 

“‘With air, sir,’ replied Skully, with an expression of 
contempt for my ignorance. ‘We filled the veins with air, 
and thus restored the proper arterial tension. Of course, we 
always sterilized the air — we melted it before injecting it.’ 

“‘And did you not have trouble from air bubbles?’ I 
inquired. ‘When we accidentally cut the jugular, we — ’ 

“ ‘ Bubbles ! ’ cried the skull, ‘ bubbles ! how absurd ! Of 
course we were not annoyed by bubbles! We didn’t have 
that kind of people in my day. Our patients could carry a 
cargo of sterilized air without the least trouble.’ — 

“ ‘ One of the many things in which we old-time doctors 
had the advantage of you modern fellows, was in the matter 
of feeding our patients. Nutrition, sir,’ said the skull, ‘is 
the key-note to successful therapeutics. The principal 
objection I have to offer regarding your modern methods 
of feeding, is the enormous bulk of material which you find 
necessary for the sustenance of your patients. You do not 
concentrate enough. 

“ ‘ Concentration of foods, in order to be of practical 
utility, must result in the production of substances that have 
a high nutritive value, associated with a very small bulk. 
This cannot be attained by your present methods. Your 
methods of beef concentration, for example, will never be 
successful until your manufacturers proceed upon logical 
lines and breed cattle especially for that purpose, as we did. 

“‘My own method was productive of most marvelous 
results. I invented a process of concentration which was so 
successful that a small lozenge of my concentrated beef 
would sustain a patient for days,and days.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


275 


“‘And what breed of cattle did you use?’ I asked, 
wondering-ly. 

“ ‘ Concentrated cattle, sir,’ replied Skully. ‘ By careful 
breeding-,1 produced a variety of cattle weighing- only ten or 
twelve pounds apiece, yet containing all the nutritive value 
of ordinary cattle. 

“‘And my concentrated cattle were valuable in other 
ways — they were great milk producers, and in summer, 
yielded as fine an article of condensed milk as ever disturbed 
a baby’s stomach, while in winter — they gave ice cream!’ 

“I gazed at the skull in admiration. Who had ever done 
so much for humanity as he?” 

“ ‘Pardon me, Skully,’ I said, ‘if I am disposed to impose 
on good nature, but I cannot refrain from asking you one 
more question that seems to me to be quite important. Did 
you have any special devices for intestinal surgery in your 
day?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, indeed, replied my friend, pleasantly, ‘ we went 
through the same fads and fancies that are at present con- 
vulsing modern surgery. Your metallic devices for splicing 
the intestines are simply a revival of my old methods. 

“ ‘ My first device for coupling intestines consisted of a 
sort of collar, composed of a section of petrified dog’s intes- 
tine which was slipped like a ferrule over the ends of the cut 
intestinal tube. The sound portions of the intestine were 
Marked so frequently, however, that the method became un- 
popular, and I afterwards invented some metallic devices, 
but they met with no better success.’ 

“ ‘Indeed, and why not?’ I asked. 

“‘Oh, well,’ replied the skull, ‘you see, the fashions 
changed too often. Brass, nickel, aluminum, steel, silver, 
gold, and rolled-plate followed each other so rapidly that the 
fashionable patient had to spend most of his time on the oper- 
ating table. 

“T presume that we might have stood the changing 
fashions, but a conceited ass of an English surgeon modified 
my device by inserting a couple of reeds in it, and that settled 
the thing.’ 


276 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ How so?’ I inquired. 

“ ‘ Well, you see, it became the fashion among- the fawning- 
nobility, to have one of the musical devices inserted into the 
oesophag-us, in imitation of the heir apparent to the throne, 
who had had a bass- toned one inserted in his own larynx to 
make him appear more manly. 

“‘His servile followers imitated him as nearly as they 
dared, and had similar devices put into their g-ullets. The 
result was, that when the dinner hour arrived, all Eng-land 
resounded with a strident chorus of “God save the King-,” as 
the loyal soup trickled down the still more loyal British 
throat. 

“‘The people finally arose in their might, and removed 
the musical devices from the throats of the aristocracy by 
the shortest possible route — by cutting off their heads. 

“‘That settled all metallic devices for operations upon 
the hollow viscera. Socialism proved too strong for them. ’ 

“At this juncture I glanced at the clock, and noted that 
it was almost morning. 

“ ‘Skully,’Isaid, ‘it is getting well along toward daylight, 
and, although your conversation is very entertaining and in 
the highest degree instructive, it is about time we were con- 
cluding our conversazione. I will take the liberty of asking 
you one more question,and then I must say an revoir.^ 

“ ‘ You are right, my dear doctor,’ replied the skull, ‘ your 
wife may worry about you, too, and as for myself, I shouldn’t 
mind having about forty winks. You see, I am not so young 
as I might be, and I need much more rest than I once did. 
But what is the question you want me to answer?’ 

“ ‘I would like to ask what your specialty was, when you 
were in active practice,’ I replied. 

“ ‘Well, doctor, I had a specialty that is but little heard 
of now-a-days — I, sir, was a general practitioner!’ and the 
skull’s lip curled with haughty pride. 

“ ‘And were you successful?’ I asked. 

“‘Very,’ replied the skull, ‘and I was successful upon my 
merits, too. Why, sir, I didn’t go to church, nor belong to a 
lodge, nor teach in a medical college, nor advertise, and I never 
stole a case from a brother practitioner, or patted a dirty 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


277 

young’-one on the head and called it “ tootsey-wootsey ” in my 
l^fe!’ 

“‘And do you mean to tell me that you were prosper- 
ous?’ I shouted, rising to my feet in righteous, yet trembling, 
indignation. 

“‘Of course I was! Why, doctor, my income for my 
third year of practice was fifty thousand — ’ 

“‘Liar!’ I shrieked, ‘ Vile imposter ! Infamous — ’ 

“‘Why — William Weymouth! What on earth are you 
screaming and swearing so about? You’ve fallen asleep in 
your chair and had a night-mare. I’ll warrant you ! Come to 
bed, you silly fellow; it’s past three o’clock! Do you want to 
ruin your health?’ — 

“And my wife took me by the arm and led me gently, 
but with evident fixity of purpose, away to my sleeping 
apartment. 

“Ah! my boy, the Baron Munchausen was modest 
enough, after all — while hasheesh is, indeed, a wonderful 
drug and beats the old Baron at his own game! 

“And now, sir, let us drink a parting cup, and say good 
night.” 



% 


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A MARTYR TO HIS PASSIONS, 



OT all of life’s colors are 

gay. 

Nor all of its memories 
bright, 

Mine own, had its sadness 
one day, 

And the smoke brings it 
back to^ght. 

The spray from the ocean 
of years — 

Dark drops from the river 
of Time, 

Bring visions I see through 
my tears — 

I’m sipping the dregs of 
the wine. 

And yet through the smoke I can see, 

Those tears in a smile fade away — 

So what are sad visions to me. 

If only the rosy dreams stay 1 



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PARDON MR FOR INTRKKUPTING VOUR INTELLECTUAL RECREATION. 






A MARTYR TO HIS PASSIONS, 



T was plain to be seen that the old 
doctor was angry. Expressive at 
all times, he is especially so on 
those very rare occasions when 
he loses his temper. The person- 
ification of g'ood nature, as a rule, 
there is no mistaking- his meaning- 
when he goes to the other ex- 
treme. I have often marvelled at 
the masterly command . of the 
English tong-ue possessed by my 
g-ood friend on ordinary occasions, 
but his knowledg-e of expletives 
and his resources of vituperative expression when he gives 
way to anger, simply overpower me — indeed, so extensive is 
the good doctor’s vocabulary at such times, that I more than 
half suspect he does not limit himself to either his native 
tongue or foreign languages — I feel certain that he coins 
new words for himself. 

Nor are the products of his word mint to be classed as 
spurious additions to the circulation of language — they have 
the ring of true metal in them. Whether founded upon 
authority or not, the linguistic products of my friend’s anger 
are gems that cannot be surpassed, for sincerity, honesty and 
force, in any language — living or dead. 


“Angry? Well, why shouldn’t I be? I came into the 
library, expecting to have a pleasant little smoke all to myself 
while waiting for you, and what should I do the very first 
thing, but knock over some infernal samples, left here this 


284 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


afternoon while I was making my calls, by one of those peri- 
patetic fiends, a distributor of drug curios? Of course, 
several of the bottles had to break — my happiness would have 
been incomplete without that — and just see what happened! 
Look at this desk! It is covered an inch deep, with some 
nasty, treacle-like fluid, that seems corrosive enough to eat 
holes in sheet iron! Here are two elegantly bound books 
spoiled, and the manuscript upon which I was at work is 
daubed so that it looks for all the world like molasses-candy 
in assorted sheets! 

“By the great Hippocrates! I have for once written 
something that will stick ! And just gaze on my new oriental 
rug! It resembles Mark Twain’s map of Paris, and as I 
look at it, I feel like assassinating the unconscious author of 
the horrible mess — if I ever catch him! 

“To make matters worse, I have been bombarded by 
book agents, canvassers, missionaries and drug distributors, 
every minute during my office hours to-day. I don’t mind sam- 
ples being left at the office so much — I have use for them 
there; I have already accidentally killed, with drug samples, 
three curious scrubwomen and one janitor,who were hunting 
for liquor in my medicine cabinet — but when my sanctum 
sanctorum at my home is invaded in this fashion, it’s time to 
get angry ! 

“But I will revenge myself — I have just printed this 
placard and I’m going to hang it up in my office to-morrow! 
Read that, my boy! Isn’t it comprehensive? 

“ ‘ Missionaries, book agents, canvassers, in- 
surance AGENTS AND DISTRIBUTORS OF DRUG SAMPLE:S 

WILL PLEASE KEEP OUT ! I HAVE NO TIME TO DEVOTE 

TO THEM. People with schemes, will be promptly 

POISONED, AS I HAVE SEVERAL PET PROJECTS OF MY 

OWN TO PROMOTE ! ‘ 

“ Don’t you think that ought to do the business? 

“Shut out the good fellows? Oh no, my boy! they all 
know where to find my latch string. The worst of it is, 
however, that there are so many good fellows among the 
representatives of respectable manufacturing drug houses. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


285 


that it is often hard to draw the line — but it must be drawn 
somewhere. I have no objections to offer to the methods 
and preparations of our manufacturers of legitimate pharma- 
ceutical products — indeed, we could hardly do without them 
in these modern days of rapid progress in pharmacal ele- 
gance, purity, palatability, potency and convenience, but I 
am thoroughly disgusted with both the methods and prepar- 
ations of the manufacturers of quasi-patent medicines. 

“ Do you know, my boy, that such products are an insult 
to scientific medicine? Why, they are no more nor less than 
an impudent insinuation that the profession demands some- 
body to furnish it with brains, and do its thinking for it! 
And look at some of the ridiculous products of these semi- 
quack medicine vendors! 

“Look at this nasty stuff, for example, ‘Bacteriol! The 
Universal Germ Killer!’ The impudence of the fellow who 
left it here, beats anything I ever heard of! That young man 
has missed his calling, he should have gone into the cold 
storage business — with such nerve as he possesses he could 
furnish his own material for refrigeration. Why, the alleged 
virtues of that abominable mixture are emblazoned on every 
fence and dead wall in the city, and, what is worse, I saw a 
man walking the streets this morning with big placards on 
his chest and back, upon which this very preparation was 
heralded to fame in letters big enough to stand alone! 

“Bacteriol! Pah! how it smells! 

“Pete! Oh, Pete! Take the rest of these confounded 
samples and throw them into the alley — and be sure you 
smash the bottles! When you have disposed of the vile stuff, 
come back here and clean up this abominable mess — and, by 
the way, Pete, you’d better hold your breath while doing it. 
That stuff looks and smells as though it might be bad for 
colored folks!” 


“Did you do as I ordered? Very well. Now, see here, 
my colored friend, if you ever allow any more samples to be 
left at my house, there’ll be a dead darky around here! If 
you don’t make a pretty good job of cleaning up my library. 
I’ll skin you, and tack your black-aiid-tan hide on the roof. 


286 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


anyhow! Get to work there, now, and stop that infernal 
g-rinning-! Your mouth looks like a cemetery vault full of 
skeletons, anyway ! ” 


“Well, my young friend, the library looks a little more 
respectable. But, by all that’s good and great — if that quack 
preparation hasn’t taken all the polish off my desk ! 

“Heigho! there’s no use, lad, I may as well subside. 

“My sentiments at the present moment, remind me of 
the experience of a certain old Yankee farmer who lived way 
down in Vermont. 

“ The old gentleman was one of the influential men of his 
community and a pretty fair sort of a Christian. He had a 
besetting sin, however, that was all the more prominent 
because of the air of sanctity that hung about him on Sundays 
— he was addicted to profanity. 

“So artistic and ornate a swearer was the old man, that 
his reputation in that line was by no means local — his accom- 
plishment was celebrated throughout the entire county. 
The expression ‘ swears like a pirate ’ was obsolete in that 
section — ‘swears like Deacon Hornswoggle,’ being the up-to- 
date phraseology by which artists in profanity were char- 
acterized among the good people of the neighborhood. 

“ Deacon Hornswoggle also had a weakness, an idiosyn- 
crasy of a less ornate and more selfish sort. He did not 
always take the best of his farm products to market. Thus 
it was not uncommon for the load of produce that he took to 
town each week, to contain fowls of suspicious lineage, eggs 
of by no means recent vintage, apples of hard consistency 
and bitter flavor, or cabbages with hearts as corrupt as the 
average alderman. 

“ On a certain Saturday morning, our good deacon went 
to market as usual and took along with his ‘ garden truck ’ 
several large baskets of eggs, among which were a few speci- 
mens that had been inhumanely filched from certain hens 
whose motherly instincts and sedentary habits had led them 
into an injudicious selection of raw material for hatching 
purposes. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


287 


“Having- marketed most of his other stuff, the deacon 
bethought him of a neighboring store at which he believed he 
would be able to consummate an especially good thing in the 
way of an egg trade. It was hardly worth while to drive over 
in his wagon, so the old man picked up a basket of eggs and 
started off on foot. 

“As he was passing across the public square constituting 
the general market-place of the town, a miserable little yellow 
our ran between his legs, tripping him up and bringing him 
to the ground with his precious burden. As he fell, the 
basket tipped and added an explosion of eggs to the comfort 
of the occasion. The deacon sat down upon the dog, blotting 
out his innocent existence as suddenly as though he had been 
<L fly, smashed by a gigantic omelet! 

“ Now, the owner of the dog happened to be standing by, 
and witnessed the death of his pet. Walking up to the 
deacon, just as that worthy gentleman was struggling to his 
feet, streaming with eggs and super-saturated with speech- 
less woe, he struck the old man fairly on the nose, knocking 
him back into the puddle of eggs and sausage meat, the blood 
streaming from his nose like a miniature cataract. Having 
thus vindicated his family honor, the indignant owner of the 
ffefunct canine strode away. 

“Some minutes later,a friend pushed through the crowd 
that was standing about Mr. Hornswoggle and condoling with 
him. — 

“ The old man was quietly sitting in the midst of the con- 
glomerate mess of eggs, blood and raw dog, without saying a 
word, whereat the friend was much amazed. 

“ ‘ Deacon,’ he said, ‘ air you hurt bad?’ 

“ The deacon shook his head. 

“‘Why, deacon, what makes you so — so quiet? You 
aint — well, you aint alius so quiet.’ 

“The old man glared at him steadily for a moment, and 
then said — 

‘ ‘ Well, neighbor, I’ve been in this yere community, man 
an’ boy, for nigh onto fifty year, an’ though I say it as 
shouldn’t, I’ve been er purty fair swearer in my day. But 


288 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

thar’ comes er time when the smartest feller on airth meets 
his match. 

“ ‘I’ve been er settin’hyar fera plum quarter of an hour, 
tryin’ ter find suthin’ suiterble ter say, but I haint thort er 
nothin’ what ud do ther subjeck jestice.’ 

“ ‘ Well,’ said the comforter, as he sniffed the air, ‘ I don’t 
know ez it’s nec’ssary fer yaou ter say anythin’ anyhow, 
deacon — thar’s sulphur ernuff hereabouts. Yore eg’gs air 
speakin’ fer themselves, purty middlin’ loud.’ 

“And the deacon glared again.” 

“ Now that the smoke of battle has cleared away, and the 
fragrant mist of my hookah is beginning to perfume the air, 
I am going to tell you something, young man. Giving way to 
emotions, whether of sorrow or anger, is the most foolish 
thing one can do. Benjamin Ward Richardson was not far 
from right, when he said that anger shortened one’s life. It 
is the most wearing of all passions. Whenever I allow my 
temper to run riot as I have done this evening, I not only feel 
humiliated, but decidedly out of sorts for several days. 
Anger is not only undignified and ridiculous — it is positively 
exhausting. Even joy may be dangerous. 

“And by the way, speaking of the evils of violent passions 
reminds me of a rather interesting character that I once met, 
who seemed to be an exception to the rule in some respects — 
as regards longevity at least. Have you the patience to 
listen to one of my prosy character sketches? — 

“ Very well, then, here goes: 

“One winter evening about ten years ago, I received a 
telegram from a brother practitioner in a little Wisconsin 
town, asking me to come up the following day and operate 
upon a case of pyo-thorax for him. The case presented no 
features of special interest and the operation was quite 
ordinary, hence I was enabled to start for home without 
delay. This was somewhat unusual in my experience — we 
never know exactly what we are going to find, when we post 
off to far-away cases. As a rule, a case that puzzles or em- 
barasses a country practitioner, is complicated enough to suit 
the most fastidious scientific taste. I therefore felicitated 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


289 


myself on the speedy completion o.f the operation, and thanked 
my friend for throwing- in my way a fee that I did not have to 
earn by the hour. 

“ My train was due at three o’clock in the afternoon, and 
after a pleasant dinner and a post-prandial cigar at my 
friend’s home, he drove me in his cutter at a lively gait over 
the snowy roads to the station. 

“We arrived in excellent time, but, much to my disgust, 
the train not only did not arrive, but I was informed by the 
station agent that he had just received a telegram to the effect 
that an accident had happened up the road, and there would 
consequently be no train through before six o’clock. 

“ Here was a quandary.— I could not very well return 
home with my friend, for he lived a long way from the town 
proper, at a little neighboring village without railroad con- 
nections. Besides, he had calls to make on the road back, and 
I did not wish to interfere with his work. Staying all night 
at the little hotel across the way from the station, would have 
been a pleasant solution of the problem that confronted me, 
but I was obliged to get back to the city that nighh 

“As there was really no alternative, I resolved to make 
the most of the situation, and kill time as best I might, until 
my train arrived. Bidding my friend good-bye and assuring 
him — much to my own disbelief — that I would be quite com- 
fortable and contented while waiting, I left the station and 
sought more genial shelter in the neighboring inn. 

“The establishment, yclept by courtesy the ‘Farmers’ 
House,’ was rather above the average of country inns, and, 
much to my astonishment and delight, I found that the pro- 
prietor had a well stocked side-board concealed upon his 
premises. Mine host was by no means an ideal boniface, but 
he certainly knew the mysteries of the manufacture of hot 
toddies. Having drunk a couple of his steaming concoctions 
— which were as palatable and aromatic as brown sugar and 
nutmeg could make them — I sat me down in a cozy corner 
by the old-fashioned fireplace, lighted a fragrant havana, 
took a book hap-hazard from among several handy volumes 
that I had stowed away in my capacious satchel, and settled 
back in the comfortable old arm chair which the rosy-faced 


290 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


daughter of the household brought me, with a sigh of satis- 
faction and contentment. 

“ ‘Really,’ I thought, ‘this is, indeed, making the best of 
a bad bargain. The philosophically inclined may always get 
a crumb of comfort out of the most unpleasant predicament. 
Still,’ I mused, as I glanced out of the window at the sleety 
storm that had meanwhile blown up — ‘philosophy works best 
on hot toddy and a good cigar, before warm and blazing knots. 
The poor fellow who has not the wherewithal, the same shall 
not philosophize.’ 

“ ‘Ugh!’ I exclaimed, as I heard the whistle of the wind 
without, and then said to myself half aloud — ‘I’d rather be 
waiting here, than driving over those cold and snowy roads, 
with that biting wind and stinging sleet in my face, as my 
poor doctor friend is doing just now!’ 

“ ‘Well,’ I reflected, ‘it might be much worse, and I can 
kill time very nicely with my book.’ 

“Strange to say, the book that I had selected at random, 
proved to be dear old Ik Marvel’s ‘Reveries of a Bachelor.’ 

“You see, my boy, I do my general reading at odd mo- 
ments. — 

“‘Could anything be more timely or appropriate?’ I 
thought. ‘What greater inspiration to sentiment, what more 
delicious intellectual feast than this little book?’ 

“‘Feast? Yes — a feast where the literary gourmand 
may revel in viands prepared by the soul and served by the 
emotions — a feast where Lucullus indeed dines with Lucul- 
lus — a board loaded to overflowing with sentiment, and gar- 
nished with the blossoms of an imagery fairer and more fra- 
grant than all the exotics of the East!’ 

“A moment later,and I was revelling in those tender and 
heartful reveries that, after nearly half a century has rolled 
away, are still the ideal of poetic prose — the acme of delicate 
word-painting. 

“ So absorbed did I become, that I did not realize that I 
was no longer alone in that queer old apartment— half office, 
and half sitting room. 

“Having attended to my modest wants, and seeing me 
ensconce myself in the old arm chair before the cheerful fire. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


291 


the landlord and his interesting- family had retired, to attend 
to other and more urgent duties than the entertainment of a 
traveler who seemed to understand the art of self-entertain- 
ment so well as I did. 

“My own soul was becoming so commingled with my 
dear old author’s reveries, that I was fast losing my intellect- 
ual identity, when a voice at my elbow brought me back to 
earth again: 

“ ‘Pardon me, my dear sir, for interrupting your pleasant 
intellectual recreation, but if you are like most travelers, 
congenial companionship may be more grateful to you than 
even the most fascinating volume. Excuse the implied ego- 
tism, sir, but, you know, we are all likely to measure the tastes 
and predilections of other men, by our own, and my life is so 
largely made up of yearning for congenial society, that I am 
likely to forget the formalities of conventional custom.’ 

“ Extraordinary as was both the interruption and the 
language in which it was couched, its author was still more 
remarkable — indeed, I do not think I have ever .seen a more 
striking personality than the man who stood before me. 

“He was apparently about seventy years of age, of me- 
dium stature and rather slight build, with the most remark- 
ably beautiful face I have ever seen in male humanity. A 
head like one of those ancient patricians who were for years 
indigenous to the old South ; hair and beard of silvery white- 
ness, and one of those rare, pink and white complexions which 
are so often fed by that paradoxical fluid — blue blood; a pro- 
file of the purest Grecian type, and eyes as black as a coal 
and full of brilliancy and fire — such were the salient features 
of a face that would have delighted the eye of the most exact- 
ing artist in search of the ideal. 

“Nor was his general make-up discordant with his 
refinement of face. I rapidly noticed that one coat sleeve was 
empty, but that his remaining hand was of a type as aristo- 
cratic as his features. His feet, I observed — with that peculiar 
faculty of instantaneous observation which the physician 
alone, almost unconsciously acquires — were probably small 
and well shaped, despite the coarse boots in which they were 
encased. 


292 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“I also noted that the old man’s dress was of a semi- 
military character — the faded blue blouse with its tarnished 
brass buttons, and his old military slouch hat, told the story 
of that armless sleeve all too pathetically and plainly. It was 
a relic of the Civil war, one of the only aristocracy in which 
America takes pride; a member of that chosen band which 
is yearly growing- more and more shadowy, more and 
more decrepit — our own beloved Grand Army — that stood 
before me. 

“ ‘ You honor me, sir, by what you choose to call your in- 
terruption,’ I replied. ‘Men of your cloth, cannot possibly 
intrude upon me. I am too devoted to the cause of bravery 
and devotion; for I too am a soldier — in the battle of life — to 
give aught but the right hand of fellowship to heroes like 
yourself. Sit down, sir, and let us be sociable.’ 

“ ‘You flatter me by your kind condescension,’ he said, 

‘ but on first observing you, I realized that there was a bond 
of sympathy between us, far stronger than the tie of which 
you speak — the true lover of books is a friend and comrade in 
arms of every other ardent worshipper at the shrine of letters. 

I happened to notice the title of the volume which you were 
reading, and realizing that reading and appreciation of authors 
are by no means one and the same, I stood watching with 
much interest, the play of your features. You, sir, are indeed, 
one of that great brotherhood of kindred spirits who do not 
read authors, but in whose lives their authors live again — 
whose souls are permeated by the souls of those choice spirits 
whose fraternal hands reach out from the shadowy past, to 
lead us like little children up into that rosy heaven of romance 
and sentiment which they created. I assure you sir, that had 
not my brief study of your face been satisfactory to me, I 
should have left the room as quietly as I entered it, and with- 
out disturbing you.’ 

“‘You are certainly very complimentary,’ I answered, 

‘ and if you are sincere in what you say, you may be sure that 
the pleasure of acquaintance is mutual. I am Dr. William 
Weymouth, of Chicago, and a physician by profession. Hav- 
ing been called to this little town on a professional visit, I had 
expected to return by the three o’clock express, but some 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


293 


accident or other has prevented the arrival of the train and I 
am compelled to wait for the next one, which, I understand, 
does not pass throug^h here until six o’clock this evening^. 
I selected this quaint old hotel as a pleasanter place to wait 
than the station, and was killing- time as best I mig-ht, while 
waiting^. • As you may imag-ine, sir, your company is not only 
welcome, but doubly ag-reeable because of the similarity of 
literary tastes which I think we must possess — judg-ing* from 
your remarks.’ 

“ ‘ How appropriate it was,’ said my new friend, ‘ for you 
to sit by this open fire-place and dream away the hours while 
waiting-, with that kindest and most sentimental of bachelors 
— Ik Marvel. Ah me! what tender memories the sig-ht of that 
book invokes ! No other admirer among- all his thousands 
and thousands of readers, ever revelled in those sad, sweet 
reveries as I once did. 

“ ‘ ’Twas but yesterday, it seems — and yet how long- ag-o 
it really was! Here am I, in the evening- of life — for I am long- 
past my three score years and ten — with the damp of the 
dew of life’s morning- still on my ag-ed brain, the scent of the 
blossoms of those early and happy days still in my shrivelled 
nostrils! Alas! why could not one’s body be always young-, 
as well as may his heart and mind ? What pleasure of sense, 
what enjoyment of the intellect, what ambition, is not as keen 
within me as in those days of old — as keen as the eag-er hound 
on the trail of his quarry? 

‘“Doctor, they say that the old, see not with the eye, 
taste not with the tong-ue, hear not with the ear of youth— 

“ ’Tis false, my friend! The eye is no less keen, the taste 
no less acute, the ear no less alert than of yore— but there 
remains very little of the lig-ht of day to see by, small store of 
the novelties of taste to titillate the tongue, and no new notes 
in the music of life— to call forth the vibrating response of 
the senses. Benumbed? Ah no! — wearied, that is all, and 
were it not for books, there would be naught in life worth 
the trouble of living.’ 

“ ‘Ah!’ I exclaimed to myself, ‘my waiting is not going 
to be so weary and profitless as I thought. I have caught a 
character, if I mistake not, and characters are the only 


294 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


things in life that are really worth studying — save, of course, 
the phenomena of disease; which is often a distinction with- 
out a difference.’ 

“I had noted with some interest that our introduction 
was one-sided — the old man had not as yet told me his name. 
But my experience in character study has taught me that the 
best way to develop a character is to allow it to develop itself 
— along its own lines — so I was content to await my com- 
panion’s pleasure. 

“‘Well, sir,’ I said, ‘you have expressed views which 
would be considered quite novel by the average man. I must 
confess, however, that I entertain ideas quite similar to your 
own — especially in the matter of books. I, too, am a firm 
believer in the view that books are our best friends. The 
lover of books, if he has the opportunity of indulging his 
tastes, is the only truly happy man. He never lacks friends; 
he never suffers from ennui; he is never weary of life — for 
the world still holds fair hopes, even after he has exhausted 
his very existence, in search of knowledge or in intellectual 
dissipation. His resources are boundless — he possesses 
wealth beside which Monte Cristo’s was as a farthing unto 
the resources of the Bank of England. Let him be as profli- 
gate as he may; let him exhaust the largest library ever 
gathered together, and there is still a veritable Golconda of 
intellectual riches beyond him. To him, there is no end — 
“infinity” is his soul's delight, and the “unknown” is his 
heaven.’ 

“ ‘ Your power of delineation of jowr own feelings is cer- 
tainly very remarkable,’ said the old man, ‘None but a man of 
the highest emotional susceptibility, and a keen insight into 
other hearts as well as his own, could so graphically express 
himself. You have apparently digressed somewhat from the 
routine of your professional life, to cull some of the fragrant 
flowers of the literary garden through which you have evi- 
dently passed. It is a pity that doctors, as a class, do not do 
more in interpreting the emotional and sentimental side of life 
than they do. Literature would be better and medicine none 
the worse, were there more literary doctors — and, by the wav, 

I surmise that you may be something of a Jiteratetir 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


295 


“ ‘Why, not exactly,’ I replied, ‘I have hardly the con- 
ceit of believing- that I rank as even a dabbler in literary 
pursuits. I confess that I have traces of ink in my blood, but 
I manag-e to keep it from breaking- out, save — as we say in 
derm atolog-i cal parlance — in the form of a few superficial and 
isolated lesions, from time to time.’ 

“ ‘ You do yourself an injustice, lam quite sure,’ said my 
new and indulg-ent friend — indulg-ent because new, of course. 
‘Even thoug-h you may not have invaded the realms of the 
scribbler to any extent, you certainly have the true spirit of 
the author, and can appreciate all the varying- lights and 
shades of human life — which, after all, is the fountain of lit- 
erary inspiration. Oh, humanity! humanity! — thou Heli- 
conian rill from which all the literary lig-hts, throug-h all the 
ag-es, have drawn their inspiration! What study could be 
g-rander, what more soul-inspiring- than that of thee? — And, 
my dear doctor, to revert back to the qualifications of your 
own profession — what more faithful student or talented de- 
lineator of human nature than the true physician? — and who 
has equal opportunities?’ 

“ ‘ Well,’ I said, ‘I appreciate the implied compliment all 
the more, because of its evident sincerity, but I am neverthe- 
less tempted to put it to the test.’ 

“ ‘As you like, my dear doctor — as you like,’ replied my 
interesting- discovery. ‘I fancy I divine your intentions. 
You have thoroug-hly appreciated the fact that our introduc- 
tion was a little lop-sided, and you feel that it would be not 
only fair, but interesting-, to know something- more definite 
reg-arding- myself.’ 

“ ‘ Well, I declare, sir ! ’ said I, ‘You seem to be something- 
of a mind reader in your way. I was thinking- that very thing-. 
I took no particular exception to your apparent reticence how- 
ever. My own life is of necessity an open book, in all that 
does not concern the secrets of others, but I nevertheless ap- 
preciate the fact that many persons have g-ood and sufficient 
reasons for conservatism in conversing- about themselves. 
I can readilv conceive that a man as intellig-ent as I believe 
you to be, mig-ht have perfectly leg-itimate and log-ical reasons 
for reservation in his confidences with an entire strang-er like 


296 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


myself — reasons too, that are perfectly consistent with the 
higfhest deg’ree of self-respect and moral integ’rity.’ 

“ ‘ To be perfectly frank with you, my dear sir,’ replied 
my companion, ‘ I was purposely reticent, and for several 
reasons. In the first place, I wished to study you further, 
before I allowed you to study me^ and in the second place, I 
desired to formulate an opinion as to your capacity of appre- 
ciation of what must be either a long- story or nothing-. I 
presume you have already concluded that I am somewhat of 
an odd fish — there, there! don’t blush sir! I take it as a com- 
pliment. 

“ ‘I have no objection to being- made a character study — 
ah! mind-reading- ag-ain, am I?’ said he, noting my rather 
amused smile. T have, however, no ambition to be the sub- 
ject of an amateur psychological study by every curious 
oddity-seeker with whom I chance to come in contact. I am, 
nevertheless, not unwilling to lay myself bare to the intel- 
lectual scalpel of a man of your scientific training and literary 
tastes; hence, if you wish it, I will assist you further in killing 
time — by giving you a history and analysis of one of the 
happiest yet most unfortunate of mortals — myself. I am a 
man whose misfortunes would make the everlasting fame of 
a second Hugo — for Jean Valjean’s unhappy life was a path- 
way strewn with roses, beside mine own pitiful lot. And yet, 
the mind being superior to the flesh — yea, the king of the 
Universe — I have been, and am, the happiest man you ever 
knew. 

“ ‘ My misery has been my joy, my misfortunes my 
keenest happiness, my afflictions have brought me nearer and 
yet nearer to the heroes of romance — nearer and yet nearer 
that oblivion of earthly surroundings which is the universal 
panacea for all human ills. 

‘ ‘ My history will doubtless interest you, as a thoughtful 
student of psychology. Being a physician, you should be able 
to appreciate the pleasure .of pain, the exalted bliss of misery 
and the satisfaction of disappointment, which are the lot of 
but one human being — the slave of passion. 

“ ‘ You behold in me, a man who has been not only a slave, 
but a veritable martyr, to his passions — a man who has sub- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


297 


verted all the laws of nature, to the workings of his own sub- 
lime, yet evil, destiny. Your philosophy says that passions 
consume like fire, fast or slow, according as they are fanned by 
cyclone or zephyr. You see before you one in whom all the 
evil passions of hell, have burned upon the altar of destiny for 
three and seventy years; fanned into a warm and cheering 
glow by tlie gentle breezes of prosperity; blown into fierce 
and all-consuming torrents of corroding flame by the rough 
gales of adversity ; yet behold the man ! — a relic of a more 
enduring generation; still strong of intellect, vigorous of 
body, and passionate of both mind and heart. 

“I often wonder, sir, if I am not a modern and successful 
wearer of the mantle of that phantom-chasing, sentimental 
old marauder — Ponce de Leon. And when I thus wonder, I 
tremble, for, when my strength of body begins to lag behind 
my fierce and uncontrollable passions, I will get a taste of 
eternal punishment before my time! Living passions and a 
dead body — ye gods ! ’ 

“ ‘And now for my auto-biography,— 

“ ‘ Pardon the interruption, ’ I said, ‘ but before you begin 
your story, let us partake of the cup that cheers. Our 
boniface makes a most excellent and praiseworthy beverage 
in the way of toddy; I will call him — and, while awaiting his 
pleasure, we will partake of a confidential smoke together. 
Try one of these cigars, sir, they are really excellent.’ 

“‘I thank you for your kindly courtesy,’ replied the 
old man, ‘ but your well-meant invitation would result dis- 
astrously to your proposed character study — in which I am 
to act as my own delineator. I have already informed you 
that I am a man of strong passions and overpowering emotions. 
In such an organization as mine, there is room for but one 
impulse, one dominating passion, at a time. Conflicts of 
passionate emotions there may be, but one must become 
dominant. I am already familiar with the liquid happiness — 
the combined distillation of heaven and hell — which is con- 
cocted by mine host. As for your cigar— well, it speaks for 
itself ’—saying which he deeply inhaled the grateful aroma of 
the fresh weed that I was in the act of lighting.— ‘ But you 
wish to hear a sketch of my life and— well, what you doctors. 


298 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


I believe, call a clinical demonstration of some of its phases, 
would hardly satisfy you. Liquor or tobacco would — but you 
will understand me better when you have heard my story.’ 

“ Drawing- his chair closer to the fire, and unconsciously 
placing- himself in the light of the blazing logs in such a posi- 
tion that his picturesqueness was increased — if such a thing 
were possible — the old man began his interesting fetory of his 
storm-tossed life. — 

“ ‘ My name is Charles Sturtevant. I was born in the 
state of New York, in one of the counties situated not far from 
the great metropolis — New York City. My father was one 
of the old Knickerbocker stock of the Van Sturtevants, who 
were among the early pioneers that settled in New York City 
and its vicinity. The Sturtevants — for the family dropped 
its aristocratic prefix after its transplantation to healthy 
republican soil — were among the most distinguished and blue- 
blooded scions of the nobility of their native land. Much of 
their old aristocratic bearing was transplanted to this country 
with them, yet there was never a more patriotically American 
family. My grandfather fought all through the war for 
American independence, and my father was a gallant soldier 
in that later struggle with the mother country — the war of 
1812. You see, doctor, there has been no lack of heroic blood 
in the family. 

“ ‘It had always been traditional among the Sturtevants, 
that the blue family blood was admixed with a fiery vein of 
impulsiveness and hot-headness — indeed, there was a shadow 
of suspicion that madness had appeared among us in differ- 
ent generations. Be that as it may, wherever was found a 
Sturtevant, there also might be found a “Hot-spur” — indeed, 
impulsive dare-deviltry, rather than discretion, has character- 
ized the family so far back that “the memory of man runneth 
not to the contrary.” My father upheld the family traditions 
most consistently — I have never met a man of so violent and 
hasty a temper. 

“ ‘ My mother was of the old Puritan stock — a lily, en- 
grafted on our fiery family tree. She was of that calm, placid, 
dignified type of woman, of which martyrs, saints and angels 
have been made from time immemorial. That she was her- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


299 


self, something of a martyr, in the new environment which 
surrounded her after her marriage to my father, is probably 
not too much to say — but if she ever revealed the fact or com- 
plained, it never came to my knowledge. 

“ ‘ Notwithstanding his fiery temper, however, my father, 
during the intervals of calm that succeeded the frequent 
gusts of passion that made my mother’s life miserable, was 
not unappreciative of her sweet and placid disposition. Nor 
was he unmindful of his own shortcomings — many a time 
when I was a child, he took me upon his knee and placing his 
hand upon my curly head said to me — “My child, you must 
try and be like your dear mother — she is an example that I 
hope you will always follow. When you get to be a man — as 
you will, all too soon — you must remember your father as a 
man w^hose heart was naturally kind, but whose evil passions 
were a curse to himself and those he loved, his whole life long. 
Your mother is an angel, and I hope you have inherited her 
sweet nature, and not that of your tempest-tossed father.” 

“‘Ah! my friend — how often have I thought of my 
father’s words when the fitful storms of wayward and uncon- 
trollable passion have racked my own sensitive spirit to the 
last thrill of emotion — alas! and enjoyment. 

“‘Poor old man! He did not realize that the Sturtevant 
blood that pulsed within me, contained a hereditary taint of 
passion which no infusion of calm Puritan blood, and no 
reasoning of a Sturtevant mind, could ever eradicate. 

“‘What a remorseless law is that of heredity! It pur- 
sues us like a veritable Nemesis — does it not, doctor? 

“ ‘But the hallowing influence of my mother’s example, 
and the repression of childish indiscretions by her ever 
watchful care and kindly correction, kept the Sturtevant 
blood calm and latent in me until my boyhood was well nigh 
past, and I was sent away to school. 

“ ‘ I know not whether it was the removal of the restrain- 
ing influences that my gentle mother had infused into my 
home life, or because my dormant passions wanted but excite- 
ment of the proper sort, to bring them into pernicious activity, 
but my nature was transformed completely, soon after enter- 
ing school. 


300 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“‘I had never had boy companions before — my sole 
playmate and school fellow having' been the little daug’hter of 
a neig-hbor. 

“ ‘ Mina Van der Hayde was my junior by several years, 
and was one of those sweet, sensitive children, with whom 
quarrels were out of the question. She was accustomed to 
look upon me as a protector, mentor, g-uide and companion, 
while I — well, I lavished all the wealth of a pure, undivided 
and unselfish boyish affection upon that dear little g’irl. 

“ ‘As Mina’s father’s estate immediately adjoined ours, 
it was but natural that we children should have been sharers 
in each other’s g’ames and studies — we even had the same 
private tutors. Our fathers had been friends as boys, long- 
before the Revolution, and their friendshi-p had become still 
more firmly cemented by their mutuality of interests after 
the independence of the colonies was assured. Both of the 
stalwart old Knickerbockers looked forward with pleasur- 
able anticipation to the time when their families should be 
linked tog-ether in strong-er bonds than those of friendship — 
bonds that Mina and I alone could provide. My mother, too, 
looked with kindly eye upon the ag-reeable future which the 
mutual affection existing- between the only children of the two 
old families seemed likely to bring-. 

“‘You can imag-ine the shock to my delicate, hothouse- 
nurtured sensibility, when I found myself thrown upon my 
own self-reliance, among- a larg-e number of boys, many of 
whom were of the hard-fisted, roug-h-mannered type, char- 
acteristic of the middle class among- the old time eastern 
settlers. 

‘* ‘ Fisticuffs was a new and hard g-ame for me — I was not 
the kind of material of which roug-h-and-ready boys are made. 
There was too much of the g-ame cock slumbering- in me — my 
ancesters had felt the touch of steel— their fig-hting- blood was 
trained to the clash of sword and crash of shot and shell. 
The consequence was, that my first trial at arms broug-ht out 
little of the roug-h-and-tumble fig-hter, but much of theSturte- 
vant passion for blood-letting-. 

“‘The day of my trial was not long- delayed; the new 
scholar at a boys’ school is not long- kept in suspense — his 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


301 



classification as to pug'ilistic merit is but a question of a few 
days at most. 

“ ‘ I remember, as if it were yesterday, the day on which 
my true nature was revealed to me. 

“‘I was rather large of 
my age, and one of the 
strongest boys of the 
school was deputized to 


“I BURIED THE BLADE IN THE BULLY’S SIDE!” 

initiate me into the mysteries of boyish pugilism. He played 
his part rather better than he expected— for I fancy he was 
somewhat surprised at the result. A trivial pretext was 
used, and before I realized what was about to happen, I was 


302 


OVER THE HOOKAH, 


involved in a fig^ht, which, with a novice like myselft could 
have but one result — I was thrown to the g'round, and found 
myself flat upon my back, with my opponent kneeling- upon 
my chest and trying- to pound my face to pieces. 

‘“How it happened, I never knew — I felt the waves of 
hot blood surg-e up into my head and had the consciousness of 
feeling- in my pocket for my knife — a present from Mina, by 
the way. I did not afterwards recollect finding- and opening- 
the knife, but I remember, even now, the ^rim satisfaction — 
aye, the hilarious joy, with which I buried the blade in the 
bully’s side! How I revelled in the sig-ht of the red blood, as 
it fairly spurted out of the wound and all over me! How like 
a tame tig-er, is man! Gentle as a kitten, until the sig-ht of 
blood rouses the devil in him! 

“ ‘ The bully recovered — I never did. The scar upon his 
body was as nothing-, compared with that upon my soul; the 
human tig-er had tasted blood, and his native ferocity — the 
ferocity of a long- line of hot-headed warrior ancestors — had 
come to the surface of a hitherto tranquil and peaceful nature. 

“ ‘But the arousal of the devil in me was not to be com- 
pared with the discovery that the passion of ang-er and the 
revengeful infliction of injury upon those who offended me, 
was a source of pleasurable gratification. I do not think it 
was the suffering I caused others, that in after years gave me 
such keen enjoyment — it was rather the sense of power to do 
injury, and the exaltation of the emotions incidental to my 
outbursts of violent temper, that gave me pleasure. I expe- 
rienced some gratification, it is true, in venting my anger 
upon inanimate things — but not that keen and savage delight 
which filled my very soul, whenever I spent my passion’s 
cruel fury upon my fellow creatures ! 

“‘I was not expelled from school after my murderous 
act of self-defense — my assailant having recovered and the 
provocation having been great, I was severely disciplined but 
allowed to remain. My punishment was, however, easy to 
bear — for I revelled in the pleasurable memory of the offense 
for which it was inflicted. 

“ ‘ I was henceforth a different boy — from a quiet, gentle, 
loving lad, I had become transformed into a fiery-tempered 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


303 


unreasoning-, quarrelsome bully. Of personal contests I had 
but few — even the over-g-rown youths in the hig-her classes, 
had not forg-otten the result of the first trial of my courag-e. 
My knife had been confiscated, but I had boug-ht another, 
which inspired even more respect than the old one — for I 
knew by experience, something- of the advantag-es of a long 
blade, when I purchased it. On the rare occasions on which 
I became embroiled in fig-hts, my antag-onist was really half- 
whipped before the actual contest beg-an — my classmates had 
excellent memories. 

“‘Time went on, and I was prog-ressing- finely in my 
studies; for I was brainy enoug-h — there was no lack of intel- 
lect in our family and I had inherited my full share of it. The 
time was drawing- near when I was to leave the preparatory 
school, and enter upon the college career which was my dear 
mother’s fondest dream. I bade fair to acquit myself with 
honor in the final examinations, and was expectantly and im- 
patiently looking forward to my anticipated visit to my home. 
Nor was the prospect of seeing Mina, the least pleasurable 
feature of my anticipation — absence, and the exaltation of the 
emotions which had resulted from the unfortunate trans- 
formation in my mental character, had made the memory of 
my little sweetheart fonder than ever. But my affairs were 
not to go on so smoothly as I thought — I had reckoned with- 
out my new-found, passionate and unreasoning temper. 

“ ‘It so happened that a party of our boys were preparing 
for a football game, which was to take place between a repre- 
sentative team from our school and another from among the 
lads of the neighboring village. I had never practiced the 
game to any extent, but there was a rough, hurly-burly 
excitement about it, that made my blood tingle whenever I 
watched the boys at practice. During one of the practice 
games that our boys had among themselves, one of the 
members of the team sprained his ankle, and a volunteer was 
called for to take his place. I immediately offered myself as 
the needed substitute, and although most of the boys were 
averse to accepting me on account of my horrible temper, 
they were still more afraid to refuse me — I therefore took the 
injured boy’s place. 


304 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘As was usual with me, I went into the work with that 
wild enthusiasm which had become a prominent feature of my 
make-up. All went well until I became involved in a desper- 
ate “tackle” with a boy considerably stronger than myself. 
Realizing in an instant, that I was overmatched, I grew angry, 
and as the blood mounted to my brain, I forgot myself and 
struck my opponent on the temple. He fell to the ground, 
half senseless, and before I could be prevented, under the 
insane impulse of my delirious frenzy I stamped upon his up- 
turned face as he lay there helpless, again and again ! I 
doubt not that I would have killed him, had not one of the 
boys — my victim’s brother — struck me from behind with a 
cane, knocking me senseless. 

“‘The poor lad was seriously injured — indeed, his life 
was despaired of for a time. My own injuries were, how- 
ever, trivial, and as soon as the management of the school had 
time to act upon the case, I was sent home in disgrace. 

“ ‘ I can recall, even now, the feeling of pity which I after- 
ward had for the boy whom I had so wantonly injured, but 
even my pity was tempered by the pleasurable recollection of 
the savage enjoyment that I experienced, while crushing his 
helpless face beneath my feet. Like all pleasurable expe- 
riences of early life, the joy of indulgence in the passion of 
anger left a memory behind that tainted my whole after-life. 

“ ‘I had expected most severe punishment from my father, 
when I arrived home after my ignominious expulsion from 
School, but, much to my astonishment, his treatment of me 
was most tender and sympathetic. He seemed to be burdened 
with anxiety concerning me and showed not the slightest 
disposition to severity — he was, on the contrary, sad and 
thoughtful when in my presence. He never alluded to my 
trouble but once. — 

“ ‘ One day, while accompanying him to the little village 
where most of our business was transacted, he turned to me 
and said: “Charles, my son, it was my intention to avoid 
all allusion to the circumstances that compelled you to re- 
turn home, before the completion of your school curricu- 
lum. Your mother, however, has convinced me that I should 
do less than my duty, did I not perform a father’s part and 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


305 


advise you on the subject of the violent temper you have 
latterly developed. I know my own family failing- — I know 
you are a Sturtevant — but I had hoped that you mig-ht re- 
semble your mother’s family, and escape the unfortunate in- 
heritance with which men of our blood have had to strug-g-le 
for so many g-enerations. But the mischief has been done — 
the hot Sturtevant blood has at last come to the surface, and 
you are destined to suffer all your life, as have suffered your 
ancestors before you. Far be it from me to reproach you — 
you are the son of your father, and, like him, a child of des- 
tiny. But you are young-, you have a powerful will; exert it, 
and you may be saved from yourself — submit to your violent 
passions, and, if you escape disaster, or even ruin, it will be 
throug-h sheer g-ood luck, and not throug-h equality of fate. 
/ have escaped ruin, it is true, but it is to the influence of your 
dear mother, rather than to my own self restraint, that the 
credit is due. Behind you, my boy, looms up a remorseless 
fate, urg-ing- you on, even as the slave driver urg-es his helpless 
chattels ; before you lies the g-ulf of despair, and beyond that 
yawning- g-ulf, stands — pardon the thoug-ht, my dear son; it is 
terrible to think of, but it must be said — the g-allows. 

‘“I have had, and thank heaven! I still have, my good 
angel — yours awaits you.” As he spoke, he waved his hand 
toward the broad acres of the house of Van der Hayde. — 
“See that you do not place a barrier between her and your- 
self, that death alone can surmount. 

‘ “ My son, reflect seriously on what I have said — I shall 
never allude to the subject again. I have but a few words 
more to say: You have experienced the misfortune of giving 
way to but a single passion — beware lest you develop others. 
You have yet to run the gauntlet of far more powerful and 
fascinating pleasures of the senses, than the gratification of 
any emotions you have so far experienced. My boy, beware 
the wiles of woman! — beware the lure of the cup! The 
Sturtevant blood has never done things by halves— it has been 
strong in its sentiments and emotions; it has been gigantic 
in its vices! Self-control is comparatively easy, in the pre- 
vention of indulgences of the passions — it is, however, far 
more difficult of application as a remedy for their cure.” 


306 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ I thought I understood my father’s meaning, and I cer- 
tainly appreciated his heartfelt advice, but I did not then 
realize its full purport. Not that I feel regret that I did not 
follow his precept — there has been too much pleasure in fol- 
lowing his example. In reality, I rejoice that I did not adhere 
to the resolution I mentally made, to curb the passion I had 
already developed, and to abstain from exposure to all influ- 
ences that might tend to develop other passions — still more 
disastrous. 

“‘My misfortune — or misconduct, if you please — at 
school, undoubtedly gave my sweet mother unbounded pain, 
but aside from the air of sadness and a certain troubled ex- 
pression in her eyes with which she occasionally regarded 
me, she showed no outward evidence of anxiety. Her silent 
melancholy, however, hurt me much more than the harshest 
reproof could have done, but my appreciation of her anxious 
interest could only be shown by an increased tenderness 
toward her — for I sincerely loved my patient, angelic mother. 
I have often wondered why her gentle spirit did not quench 
the fire of my passionate nature, even as the gentlest rain, 
quenches in time, the hottest blaze that man may light. 

“ ‘And Mina, dear, beautiful little Mina ! My little sweet- 
heart was fast budding into womanhood — a fact of which I 
was as innocently unconscious as was she — girls mature so 
much faster than their boyish playmates. She was to me, 
the same little Mina as of old. I sometimes fancied she noted 
the great change in me, of which I was myself all too keenly 
conscious — if so, however, she made no sign — she was even 
kinder, more sympathetic and lovelier than ever. 

“ ‘Under the kind and affectionate ministrations of the 
two beings whom I loved best on earth, I actually regained a 
semblance of my old self. The storm-tossed ship of my 
passions was in a safe harbor. Do I regret that my peaceful 
state of mind did not last? I fear not — the negative pleasure 
of that contented period of my life is hardly a memory now; 
it has been blotted out by the more vivid enjoyment of my 
devouring passions, experienced so many times since those 
quiet days at home. 

“‘My sojourn at home was hardly a vacation; it was a 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


307 


continuance of my studies. My father employed a private 
tutor for me — and a kind old man my teacher was, God bless 
him ! — to finish my preparation for colleg-e, and well did that 
dear old man fulfil his duty. Mr. Marshton was one of the 
kindest and most considerate of men; he was, moreover, one 
of the few persons who had control over me. Whether my 
natural fire was tempered by an hereditary strain of the 
discipline of the soldier, I know not — but I certainly obeyed 
my teacher to the letter, and he never had the slig-htest cause 
of complaint ag-ainst me. Indeed, he was more than compli- 
mentary reg'arding- my prog’ress. 

“ ‘ The time of my departure for colleg'e came only too 
soon. I had passed my entrance examinations several weeks 
before, and with them out of the way, I had the opportunity 
to fully enjoy the remainder of my stay at home, and I 
assure you that I took advantag'e of it. Much of my time was 
spent with Mina, and the days went by in unalloyed pleasure. 
But happiness is usually short-lived, and mine was no excep- 
tion to the rule — the day on which I was to leave for my new 
career, arrived before I realized that I was really to depart 
from home ag'ain. 

“ ‘I was wiser than when I first went away to school. I 
understood myself better, at least, althoug-h I was not much 
wiser in worldliness than when, as an innocent boy in a 
roundabout, I left foi; the scene of my first education in self- 
knowledg'e. I understood the feeling- of sadness with which 
my parents bade me g-ood-bye, however, far better than at 
my previous departure. Nothing- was said reg-arding- my 
former school experience, but I divined intuitively what was 
meant when my father said — “I expect g-reat thing-s of you, 
Charles; you have only to exert your power of will, and the 
honors of your classes will certainly be yours.” 

“‘My mother was too overcome with emotion to say 
much, but, as she kissed me g-ood-bye she whispered — 
“ Charley, my son, be very careful, and I shall have reason 
to be proud of you; be master of yourself and you will be 
master of others.” 

“ ‘Mina did not come to see me off — we had bidden each 
other g-ood-bye at her own home,an hour before the expected 


308 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


arrival of the stage that was to bear me away. I did not 
want that sweet farewell to be witnessed by others, who, I 
was sure, could not understand nor sympathize with, all that 
it implied. Little was said between us — little was necessary 
to the intuitive understanding of each other’s feelings, but 
when we parted, it was in the fond hope that when I returned, 
after college days were over, we should never part again as 
long as we should live. 

“‘College days are everywhere so much alike, that the 
experience of one young man is very nearly that of every 
other — there would be little to say of my own had I been as 
other young men. With the advice of my father still fresh in 
my mind, I did exercise self-control to this extent — I did not 
expose myself to any influence that might again arouse the 
brute in me. I avoided all the college games, and by hard 
and severe study — which in itself became almost a passion — I 
endeavored to keep myself within the bounds that I alone 
knew to be necessary to my safety. 

“ ‘ On account of the seclusion necessitated by my self- 
discipline, I was not popular with my fellow students, and I 
knew it. Living as I did, the life of a recluse, however, I 
cared not for popularity, and as I did not mingle with the 
other students, my unpopularity did not expose me to any 
insolence that might have aroused my violent temper before 
I had accomplished the object of my incessant mental labor. 

“‘I had but one associate — a delicate little fellow from 
Boston, by the name of Stoddard. Why this young man and 
myself became attached to one another I do not know. I had 
developed into a strong, well-knit youth, and had a certain 
degree of contempt for puny young fellows. Stoddard was 
not only puny, but the direct antithesis of myself— delicate, 
sensitive, and pliant to a fault, his nature was totally unlike 
my belligerent, moody, and hasty temperament. My young 
friend had all the refinement and poesy of the true artist, and 
had I been other than I was, his influence over me would have 
been productive of benefit to my coarser-grained nature. 
But the difference between the artistic temperament and one 
of coarser mould under the same influences, was never so 
well shown as in our relations. The classics appealed to 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 309 



Stoddard, as the rosy cloudland in which the higher emotions 
were fed by the purity of art, and warmed by the beams of 
an untarnished soul. Far different was their influence over 
me. The clang of Achilles’ armor fired my soul with lust 

for blood; excited my desire 
for the smell of powder and 
the clash of arms! The 
Paris of my dreams, needed 
no apology for the abduction 
of the peerless Helen! What 
was the fall of a dozen 
Troys, compared with the 


A REVEL OF THE SOUL. 

gratification of the lust of a Paris, inspired in my heart by a 
Homer, and fed by the hot blood of a Sturtevant? 

“‘The orgies and cruel passions of Nero found theii 
responsive echo in my own soul. I realized the enormity of 
his crimes, but revelled in blissful contemplation of their 
description. The lions of the carnivals of blood in which that 


310 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


vile monster indulg'ed, were no fiercer than the beasts that 
g'lowered and g^rowled within my own heart — the blood that 
flecked their jaws was not redder nor more abundant than 
that which bathed the victims of my imagination. 

“ ‘ Descriptions of bacchanalian feasts, were to me, 
dreams of delight. I revelled with their participants, and 
longed for the opportunity to indulge my own fierce appetites 
— even as they did. 

“ ‘ My friend Stoddard little thought that our readings 
of the classics and martial ancient history — he was a most 
charming reader and often read aloud to me — were affecting 
his taciturn friend in such an unfortunate fashion. He did not 
know that, when he read to me, I fought side by side with 
Alexander, devised situations with Boccaccio, drank blood 
with Nero, and imbibed more and stronger wine than ever 
Bacchus himself could have dreamed of ! 

“ ‘And our modern writers were fully as disastrous as 
the ancient, in their effects upon my peculiar organization. 
The beauties of Byron’s verse were lost upon me — in their 
excitement of my emotions, I read not Byron — I lived Byron. 

“ ‘ How aptly Sir Walter Scott has said of the man of 
passion : 

“His soul, like bark with rudder lost, 

On Passion’s chang-eful tide is tossed. 

Nor vice, nor virtue, has the power 
Beyond the impression of the hour ; 

And Oh, when passion rules, how rare 
The hours that fall to virtue’s share ! ” 

“ ‘I have often thought, doctor, that Scott himself knew 
more of passion’s sway than he ever admitted. A man must 
have felt the dominance of passion to have written those 
lines. That Byron lived his own sentiments is certainly 
true — he, too, was a child of destiny, whose heredity was his 
own misery — his own happiness — and the world’s good for- 
tune. 

“ ‘P'rom what I have said, you can imagine the result. I 
became an impractical dreamer; I lived among the clouds of 
romance, in the midst of the soft haze of sensuality — my 
dreams were my dissipation, even as my books were my life- 
work. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


311 


“ ‘Fortunately for me, the indulg’ence in my violent pas- 
sions was a phantasy of the brain as yet — no opportunities 
arose for the practical application of my excited fancies. 
Indeed, I doubt whether I should have embraced such oppor- 
tunity had it arisen, unless forced upon me by some circum- 
stance in which physical impressions of passion were un^i- 
voidable. 

“ ‘There was no immediate practical harm done, there- 
fore. I dreamed of an elysium wherein female beauty, the 
frag-rant fumes of the oriental chibouk, and the exhilarating- 
effects of the glowing wine, alternated with deeds of blood — 
with clash of sword, the roll of drum and the rattle of 
musketry — without any imminent danger either to my life 
or morals. The disastrous effects, however, were none the 
less real because they were only to be realized through the 
actual experiences of my after-life. My dreams of the harem, 
of war, of wine, woman, song, and the smoke and roar of 
battle, developed the budding instincts of my ancestral blood, 
into a towering tropic blossom that o’ershadowed all my 
future life with misery; illumined it with joy — with soul- 
depressing disaster and rose-colored happiness combined. 

“ ‘ During the four years of my college course, I spent a 
portion of each of my vacations at home. My visits were 
pleasant enough, save that Mina was«not there to welcome 
me — her father had sent her abroad to study art and music, 
in which she was especially gifted. But I knew that she had 
not forgotten me — her occasional letters would have reassured 
me, even though my own heart had not inspired me with the 
confidence of a first affection. 

“‘It might seem strange to you, doctor, that I should 
have had the same frank and boyish affection for Mina, 
during the process of evolution of my evil passions I have 
described to you, as in my early boyhood’s days — yet I 
did retain it nevertheless. My feelings toward her were 
fortunately too exalted to become tainted with my new-found 
emotions — she was never less than a divinity to me, through 
all the storms that agitated my centers of ideation. 

“ ‘ My final examinations at last arrived, and I was proud 
to be able to inform my father that I was one of the honor 


312 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


men of the class. I received medals for my proficiency in 
the classics and Eng’lish literature — a fact which especially 
delig-hted my father, as he was himself an ardent lover of 
literature— both ancient and modern. My friend Stoddard, 
was likewise the recipient of special honors— as mig-ht have 
been expected. Indeed, it was to him that I owed much of 
my own success — a fact I freely acknowledged, but which 
he modestly refused to believe. 

“‘Everything seemed to be favorable to my happiness— 
I had won glory at college, my parents were well pleased with 
me, and, best of all, Mina was waiting for me. As my father 
was quite feeble, he had decided to have me assume the man- 
agement of his estate and was desirous of having me marry, 
immediately on my return from college. Mina had returned 
from Europe — having finished her studies — and there was 
no obstacle to the consummation of my father’s wishes and 
my own fair hopes. 

“ ‘Commencement day — that day of all days in the lives of 
college men — at length arrived. My parents and friends were 
present to see me graduate, and to say that I was happy, would 
be a mild expression of my true feelings. My only regret 
was, that Mina could not be there — her father was ill, and she 
felt that she could not leave him, even for me, as she said in a 
pretty little note she sent by my mother. 

“ ‘ My parents wished me to return home with them, but 
I had promised to attend a farewell dinner, to be given by one 
of the wealthy members of the class the next evening, hence 
I was obliged to remain until the day after that affair. Would 
that I had known what the result would be ! — And yet — 

“ ‘ I fancied my father had some misgivings in leaving me 
behind — however, he said nothing. I promised faithfully to 
return home at the earliest possible moment after my social 
duty to my classmate had been fulfilled, and after wishing 
me a pleasant time at the coming dinner, my parents left for 
home. 

“ ‘ The dinner was much the same as is usual,even to-day, 
among college boys. A congregation of young men whose 
labors are over, and who are trying to make up for time lost 
in the matter of social dissipation, is about the same every- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


313 


where and at all times. There is a certain proportion of 
boisterous fun, and a g’reater proportion of intoxication, on 
the part of young- men who^ perhaps, have never drunk a drop 
of stimulants before. This particular dinner was no excep- 
tion to the rule, and had its full share of hilarity. 

“ ‘ It was on this occasion that my baptism of fire occurred 
— I was induced to indulg-e in both tobacco and liquor. Never 
shall I forg-et the effect of that first indulg-ence — my dreams 
of bacchanalian pleasures were as nothing-, compared with the 
reality! I seemed to be transformed into a different being- — 
the world seemed to unfold before my mental vision like a 
wonderful and beautiful panorama — I was in the seventh 
heaven of delig-ht ! It seemed to me that there was no feat too 
arduous — no adventure too hazardous, for me to attempt. I 
had developed a marvellous eg-otism and self- confidence. For 
the first time since the beg-inning- of my colleg-e career, I was 
assimilated to my surrounding-s — I became as boisterous as 
the rest. 

“‘I have already told you of my unpopularity with my 
fellow students. I realized it myself, more keenly than ever, 
before the dinner was over — one of my classmates, when 
called upon for a speech, embraced the opportunity to make 
some insulting- remarks with reg-ard to my conduct during- 
my colleg-e course. To make matters worse, he made several 
sarcastic allusions to a slight lameness with which my poor 
little friend Stoddard was afflicted. 

“‘Even had I been perfectly sober, I would not have 
tolerated such treatment — in the condition I was in, I cer- 
tainly was not to be trifled with. I dashed a glass of wine 
in the fellow’s face, and in an instant,we became engaged in a 
desperate fight. 

“‘We were separated by our companions, before any 
serious injury had been sustained on either side, but the 
affair did not end there — I received a challenge before I left 
the room at the conclusion of the dinner, which challenge I 
promptly accepted. One of my classmates volunteered to 
officiate as my second, and a duel with pistols was arranged 
for the following morning. 

“‘The affair came off as planned, and my antagonist 


314 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


was carried from the field with a ball through his right 
lung-. 

“ ‘ Knowing- that the laws ag-ainst duelling- were very 
severe at that time, I fled to New 'York City, and found 
refug-e in a by no means aristocratic section of the metropolis 
—intending- to remain in seclusion until it was safe to return 
to my home. I afterward heard that my antag-onist had 
recovered from the immediate effects of his wound— only to 
succumb to some remote resulting- trouble some months 
later. 

“‘I succeeded in letting my father know my where- 
abouts, so that I was amply supplied with money — indeed, I 
had more than was wise. 

“‘I had not forgotten my experience with tobacco and 
stimulants, and having the means to gratify my desires in 
that direction,! lost no opportunity of doing so. My methods 
of indulgence were, however, unique — I never combined the 
use of tobacco and liquor. As I have already informed you, 
my organization is peculiar — there appears to be room in my 
mentality for but one intense passion at a time. When I 
smoked, therefore, it was my custom to consume a large 
amount of strong tobacco at a sitting. And such enjoyment 
as it gave me ! Such beautiful and agreeable visions as I saw 
through the fumes of my pipe! Heaven was not so very far 
away, when I was smoking! 

“ ‘My method of drinking was somewhat similar, I would 
drink and drink, until nature could stand no more! And 
such day dreams as I had, after my brain had once been 
tainted with liquor! The ideal of bliss that my mind now 
conceived, was a drama in which a huge cask of liquor and 
myself, played the principal rdles. How I longed to be in 
some solitary and secluded spot, with a barrel of stimulants 
at one end of a siphon and myself at the other! And how I 
would drink, if such a situation were possible ! I would revel 
in drink until the last fiery drop had been consumed! Ah! 
what a magnificent passion that of drink is, to be sure ! How 
can people who have never felt such magnificent passions as 
mine, understand the furious paroxysms of the dipsomaniac ? 
And there are those who pity such as I! Why, however 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


315 


much one mig-ht suffer for such indulg-ences, the physical 
misery is trifling-, compared with the joyful delirium and 
frenzied happiness for which it pays! 

“ ‘Doctor, what of opium? Does it act— -Pshaw! I do 



not need it! The time may come, but now, the wellspring- of 
my joy, my responsiveness to liquor, is not yet run dry! 

“ ‘It is hardly necessary to add, that the other passion 
ag-ainst which my father warned me, soon entered my life — 
there came times when my soul-stirring- emotions and violent 


316 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

passions were centered upon woman — woman in the collec- 
tive sense. 

“ ‘What did that old imbecile, Martin Luther, mean when 
he said — 

“ Who loves not wine, woman and song 
Lives a fool his whole life long”? 

“‘Did he believe it possible that the ordinary human 
animal could love all three, in the highest sense of exaltation, 
at one and the same time? If so, he knew but little of such 
organizations as mine. 

“‘It was not long before the excitement caused by the 
unfortunate duel had died away. My friends had meanwhile 
exerted their influence to secure immunity from prosecution 
for me — at such time as I chose to return to my home — and 
with success; I was no longer a refugee, but the master of 
my own freedom — almost. 

“‘My father wrote me, urging me to return at once — 
nearly a year had elapsed, and he naturally thought that I 
w’ould be overjoyed at the prospect of being home again. 
Much to his sorrow and consternation, I refused. My 
mother, and even Mina, wrote me letter after letter, in a 
similar strain, but even then' pleadings were in vain. No ; I 
would not return home — my newly developed passions could 
not have full sway there! 

“ ‘ Not long after this, my father died, and I was abso- 
lutely compelled to return home, to assume charge of his 
affairs. This incident stemmed the tide of my passions — for 
the time at least^ — and under the influence of my mother and 
darling Mina, in conjunction with my necessarily quiet life, I 
became a little more like my original self. 

“‘I finally decided to follow the dictates of my higher 
sense of duty — which was still in evidence, strange as it may 
seem. My will power was not totally gone, and for a time 
was triumphant, even as in the old college days. I married 
Mina, and settled down in the old home, much to the joy of 
my mother, who, unfortunately, did not live very long after 
that consummation of her wishes which she believed to be an 
absolute guarantee of my future happiness and good behavior. 

“‘With the death of my mother, however, the chief 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


317 


restraining* influence was removed from my erratic nature — 
her inhibitory power over my fiery impulses had been little 
short of marvellous. Mina’s influence over me was a more 
delicate one — it was that of affection, unassOciated with any 
of that strictly psychic element of control, without which, 
affection is often helpless. 

“‘It was not long* before my old gusts of passionate 
temper returned, and I made my poor wife’s existence miser- 
able. It was the experience of my martyr mother over again, 
only Mina was of more pliant and less philosophical mould than 
was she — sorrows that had passed over my mother without 
even bending her fortitude, fairly crushed little Mina — she 
mourned her heart away, poor child. 

“ ‘ I soon began to yearn for my old periodical indulgences 
in my violent passion for drink, and its soul-stirring concom- 
itants. I realized that it would never do to indulge my 
passionate propensities at my home, so I devised excuses to 
go to New York from time to time. 

“ ‘Ah! what a delicious memory is that of those periods 
of frenzied enjoyment! Doctor — with all my miseries and 
misfortunes, my life would have been well worth the living, 
had my memory naught to revert to save my tempests of 
passion! Ye gods! how I drank! What pleasure of the 
senses was not mine, and in a degree the most superlative? 
What joy did I not — ? but you cannot understand ; no man of 
your make-up can appreciate the riotous pleasures that 
I have enjoyed. — 

“ ‘One of my chief ambitions in life, was to have an heir 
— the Sturtevant line of succession was very dear to me. 
You can imagine how happy I was when I knew that my 
hopes in this direction were likely to be realized. “My son!’’ 
How sweet that sounds to me, even now ! My very being, was 
wrapped up in the rosy prospect! 

“ ‘As you will understand from what you already know 
of my mental peculiarities, all other passions were displaced 
by this new one — for revelling in the prospect of an heir, 
really became a fixed and dominant passion in my mind. 
There were no more excursions to New York, no more out- 
bursts of temper, and my wife was happy again. 


318 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ It is hardly necessary to expatiate upon the disaster 
that overthrew my rose-colored hopes — the child was a g-irl! 

“ ‘For the fourth time in my life, the impulse to kill, came 
over me in a wave of unreasoning* fury — I wished to destroy 
that innocent child. Fortunately, I had sense enoug*h to g*ive 
my violent passion another outlet; I refused to see either 
mother or child, and went to New York on a prolong*ed 
carousal — the old story over ag*ain. 

“ ‘ When I finally returned home — my violent outburst of 
emotional insanity having* spent itself — I ag*ain refused to see 
my little daug*hter; indeed, I never saw her. Even when the 
child fell ill, I was still obdurate. At leng*th the poor little 
thing* died — I refused to g*o to the funeral. I did not dare — 
I was afraid of myself, and justly, as the sequel will show. 

“ ‘ A few days after the burial of the little one, Mina ven- 
tured to expostulate with me upon my conduct. Gentle as 
was her reproof, sad as were her tears, they had but one 
result — they aroused my violent temper, and in the intoxica- 
tion of my ang*er I — struck my wife! 

“ ‘I fled to New York, to escape from myself, and for a 
month I was in a state of delirious happiness — passion had 
closed the curtain of memory, and the hand of love drew it not 
back. 

“‘I never saw my home ag*ain. When the storm of 
passion had spent its rag*e, I was told that my wife was dead. 
No one knew that I had struck her — she died blessing* me, 
and her secret was buried with her. A broken heart keeps 
its secrets well! 

“ ‘There is but little more to tell. I sold the old home, 
leaving* the details entirely to our old family lawyer — I had 
not the courag*e to face my old friends and neig*hbors. 

“ ‘I went to South America, and remained away from my 
native land until the Mexican war broke out, when I returned 
and enlisted in the army. My Sturtevant blood at last had a 
fair field, and rig*ht merrily it pulsed! Men of ordinary 
mould, cannot conceive of the fierce delig*ht that scenes of 
carnag*e give to one of my stamp. How I revelled in the 
sights and sounds of battle ! 

“ ‘I served through the Mexican war with distinction — 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


319 


winning a commission as captain. I afterward went to Cali- 
fornia, during the gold fever. I was successful in my mining 
ventures, and became an enormously wealthy man. Much 
of my wealth, however, was eventually dissipated. 

“ ‘When the Civil war began, I entered the Union army 
as a private soldier, and fought until I was wounded and dis- 
abled. I lost my arm at Kenesaw Mountain — this empty 
sleeve is a badge that one of my blood might well be proud to 
wear, and brought but one regret; I could no longer fight — 
no longer know the passionate joy of war! 

“ ‘Since the war, I have been all over the world. Wher- 
ever excitement was promised, there might I be found. I 
was a war correspondent during the Franco-Prussian war, 
and only regretted the disability that prevented my enter- 
ing the ranks of the French army under my friend. Marshal 
McMahon. 

“ ‘I finally drifted to this out-of-the-way place. I came 
here some three years ago, and bought a fine farm some dis- 
tance from town. There I live among my books — alone, save 
for my domestics and farm laborers. Tobacco and liquor 
bring their joyous dreams as of old! I am happy in my 
misery, miserable in my happiness!’ 

“‘Monotonous, you say? Oh no — Chicago is not far 
away, and I go and come as I please — when my storms 
come on.’ 

“Just then the landlord’s voice was heard in the next 
room, saying — 

“ ‘It is almost train time, and that gentleman may want 
some supper before he goes. Sarah, step into the office and 
ask him whether he wants us to fix something for him, and 
what he would like.’ 

“I turned expectantly toward the door, in pleasant 
anticipation of the coming of the rosy-cheeked Sarah. 

“ She appeared, and delivered her message. 

“‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘and you will please prepare supper 
for two — the best the house affords. You will join me I am 
sure, sir,’ I said, turning toward — the empty arm chair! 
My fascinating companion had disappeared ! 


320 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“As I sat eating- my supper, I marvelled much at the 
strang-e conduct of my quondam friend: 

“ ‘By the way, landlord,’ I said, ‘ Mr. Sturtevant is quite 
a remarkable character.’ 

“‘Sturtevant — Sturtevant?’ he repeated, reflectively — 
‘never heard of him before, sir. Where does he live?’ 

“ ‘ Why, he lives here, in your town, does he not? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ There’s no such man in this town or in the county, so 
far as I know,’ he replied. 

“I mentally pitied the landlord’s stupidity, but said no 
more along- that line — I tried another tack. 

“ ‘ By the way, landlord, that was quite an interesting- old 
gentleman, whom I had the pleasure of meeting in your hotel 
ofiice this afternoon. He was highly entertaining.’ 

“‘You mean the old one-armed man, sir?’ asked mine 
host. 

“‘Yes, the old blue-coated veteran with the handsome 
face.’ 

“‘Oh, that’s old Jim Tyler. Well, he’s a good fellow 
enough, but he’s mighty shiftless. He’s no veteran — that’s 
my old army blouse he’s got on. You see, the old man’s my 
father-in-law, and he likes to parade around in soldier clothes, 
so I let him wear my old relic.’ 

“By this time I was all attention, as you might suppose. — 

“‘Ah, my friend, you interest me- perhaps you know 
something of the missing arm,’ I said. 

“ ‘Well, I don’t know where it is now,’ replied my new 
entertainer, somewhat facetiously, ‘but the old man lost it in 
the flour mill. He was always a sort of a curious chap and he 
would fool around machinery. When he got his hand caught, 
he might have pulled it out if he hadn’t been so darned lazy — 
he just left it in, until his arm was pretty well chewed up ! If 
the miller hadn’t seen him and pulled his arm out, he’d have 
lost his head, I reckon — such as he has.’ 

“ ‘ He seems to be a well-read man,’ I said. 

“ ‘Oh, yes; he has read pretty much everything — he just 
does nothing but loaf and read, all the time,’ replied the 
landlord. 

“ ‘Has he traveled much?’ I asked. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


321 


“‘Traveled! Well, I should say not,’ he answered. ‘You 
don’t know him or you wouldn’t ask that question. Why, he 
is too blamed lazy to g-et aboard a train — he hasn’t been five 
miles away from this hotel in ten years!’ 

“ ‘ He is wealthy, I presume,’ I said. 

“‘Wealthy! He hasn’t g'ot a dollar in the world. His 
wife supported him until she died. I married the house, and 
him with it. I don’t mind taking- care of him thoug-h — my 
wife and children are very fond of Grandpa Tyler. Besides, 
he has no vices — he never smoked, or drank a drop in his life. 
He’s too lazy I g-uess; he’s afraid the active excitement mig-ht 
kill him. Then, too, he is so easy to g-et along- with — he is 
never quarrelsome and is as kind-hearted as an old woman. 
I guess his wife had him well in hand, if all I hear is correct. 
Thank the Lord! My wife doesn’t take after her mother!’ 

“Well sir, I hope the old man will go on reading novels 
and such things for many years yet. He does nothing but 
dream, and tell yarns about his imaginary experiences — all 
taken out of his friends’ libraries, for he’s too shiftless to 
own any books himself. 

“ ‘But he’s likely to dream, and peddle out his dreams for 
a long while yet, sir. Did he tell you any of his yarns?’ 

“‘Why, ye — no, not exactly, ‘I replied, ‘just a few 
reminiscences, that’s all.’’ 

“ ‘Just as I supposed,’ said mine host, ‘ that’s his strong 
point. But you’d better get over to the station sir, your train 
is coming!’” 


“ I had indeed, spent a most profitable day ! As the train 
sped along toward home I mused— 

“ ‘ Verily, my romantic friend practices what he preaches 
—he does live his authors. He told me the truth ; he is truly 
a martyr to his passions; for ease, books, and for — lying.’ 


“ Good gracious, boy! Do you know what time it is? It’s 
nearly one o’clock. My passion for story-telling is almost 
equal to old Jim Tyler’s. You must go home and get some 
sleep. 


322 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


*“I? Oh, I’m an old stag’er and don’t need as much rest 
as a hard-working- student like yourself, but it is nevertheless 
about time for me to retire. 

“It is sing-ular, is it not, that one g-ets so used to late 
hours after a while? But we must make up for lost time, 
sooner or later. When we g-et real old, we require plenty 
of sleep — more and more as time g-oes on, until we g-et our 
final overdose of slumber and forg-et to wake up ag-ain. This 
is as it should be, and shows that if Nature is permitted to 
have her own way, she is very kind to her weary children. 

“ Good nig-ht.” 



OLD ABE AS A MUSICAL CRITIC, 



|0, yo* ain't feelin' jes' well, 
little Marster Ben? 
Whut kine ob smell is dat 
erbout yo' cloze ? 

Yos paler dan er po' ole 
yallah settin’ hen! 

Bin smokin' I Jes reckon — 
oh, I knows! 

Be sho* yo' kain fool yo' 
uncle i dat yo' kaint ! 
An' whut's mo', yo' shan' 
try, deed'n yo' shan't ! 
Whuffo' yo' didn' tell me 
whut yo' wuz doin'? 

De nex' dat I knows, yoll be er chewin'! 

Dar now, ma little honey, doan' yo' cry — 

Yo'll feel bettah bye an' bye. 

Take yo' smokin' easy an' not too strong — 

Get yo' hand in befo' long. 






1 J 


“abr’ham, dak’s OUAH good ANGrcr. 


OLD ABE AS A MUSICAL CRITIC 



Doctor was much later than 
usual in getting* in from his 
rounds, and I was kept waiting 
for him nearly an hour. It was snow- 
ing quite heavily, and when my deaf- 
old friend finally arrived, he was covered 
with a fleecy coat of white, and his whisk- 
ers were clogged up so that they stood out from 
r-.v his face most defiantly. He looked not unlike old 
Santa Claus — only better natured and more stalwart. 
It was evident that the world was going smoothly 
with the doctor just then. His rubicund visage — 
which plainly showed that snow is an excellent cosmetic — 
was glowing with health and good nature, and I wondered at 
the transformation that had occurred in him in the short 
space of a fortnight, for at my last visit I fancied he was 
rather hypochondriacal and depressed. 

I assisted the doctor in removing his coat, meanwhile com- 
menting on his cheery, healthy appearance. He seemed 
much gratified,and said— 

“Yes, there is a change in my feelings too; I had been 
consulting the wrong doctor for many years. I’ve got the 
right one now though. 

“ Who is he? 

“It’s not a ‘he,’ this time, but a ‘she’ — the new consult- 
ant in my case is my wife. 

“Tell you about it? Well, I’ll try one of her beefsteak 
specifics for melancholy and fatigue, first, then I’ll tell you 


328 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


something’ about my new doctor’s advice. Meanwhile, you 
will be more comfortable in the library. You’ll find the latest 
book of interest on the table — Max Nordau’s ‘ Deg’eneration’ 
— and by the way, it is one of the most interesting- and valu- 
able books ever written.” 


“Well, my boy, I’m ready for my fez, g-own and hookah. — 

“ Do you know, sir, that I wouldn’t be at home to-nig-ht 
had it not been for the anticipated pleasure of talking- to you ? 

“Of course, it is a compliment — I intended it to be. 
When I have answered your question reg-arding- my improved 
appearance and my wife’s prescription, you’ll appreciate it 
much better,! am sure. 

“But, about my physical improvement: 

“ You have, of course, noticed that I have been rather 
down in the mouth lately. I thoug-ht I was overworking-, 
but as that’s such a common complaint among- doctors, I 
hadn’t concerned myself much about it. My wife was on the 
alert, however, and called my attention to my condition, with 
unmistakable emphasis. ‘Overwork,’ she said, ‘is a g-ood 
argument, and undoubtedly fits your case admirably, but 
there is another fault of your daily routine that is more 
serious. You don’t play enough, and, what is worse, you 
drag my life into your slough of despond, by depriving me of 
all social enjoyment and recreation. Now I propose to turn 
over a new leaf, and, to begin with, you are going to let some 
of your night work go, and devote your evenings to me, for a 
while at least. If I once get you started, I know you’ll fall in 
line quite willingly. Recreation or divorce, my dear ! I mean 
it, sir! There isn’t a judge in Chicago, who wouldn’t grant 
me a divorce on the plea of neglect, cruelty and desertion. 
I’ve stood it long enough, and we are not going to have any 
funerals in this family if I can help it. I’m going to run the 
machine a little while for a change, and we will begin the new 
regime to-morrow evening.’ 

“Well, I saw that I was in for it, and as I have long since 
ceased to argue with my wife when she has her mind set 
upon anything; I submitted as gracefully as I could. 

“When I started on my rounds the next morning, my 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


329 


wife reminded me of my eng-ag-emeiit. I asked her where 
we were going-, and she said it would be time enough to know 
that, when she had her own mind made up, so I might as well 
hold my peace until evening. 

“What do you think she did? She bought tickets for 
the opera, and defiantly held ’em under my nose at dinner 
that evening! 

“‘The opera!’ I groaned. ‘What the deuce do I care 
about the opera?’ When I glanced at the tickets I was 
dumbfounded — they were for II Trovatorel 

“ ‘Italian opera, by the eternal!’ I yelled — ‘and I suppose 
I must put on my dress suit!’ 

“‘Even so,’ said my wdfe, blandly, as she passed me a 
plate of — maccaroni soup, by all that’s sarcastic ! 

“ I saw that the fates were against me, and quietly sub- 
mitted. 

“I finally succeeded in getting ready, but I confess that 
I felt like a fellow w’ho is going to his own execution. In- 
deed, I couldn’t rid myself of my mental incubus until I 
found myself, after a futile struggle to find a place for my 
hat, safely seated in one of those abominable devices known 
as orchestra chairs. 

“But, my boy, there is no possible doubt about the 
power of music over the human heart. I went into that 
auditorium a misanthrope, and in less than ten minutes after 
the orchestra began playing, I realized that life was once 
more enjoyable. It was not the world that was upside down; 
it was yours truly. Now, you will please understand that 
I always did like music — I used to fairly haunt the opera — but 
for several years I had heard nothing but my wife’s piano 
and an occasional organ grinder or little German band, that 
merely served to keep me in pistol practice on the one hand, 
and to cultivate my thirst on the other. 

“ Well, I’ll never get into the old ruts again. The effect 
of that beautiful opera was a revelation to me. They are 
talking in scientific circles, just now, about music as a thera- 
peutic agency. Let me assure you, young man, there’s a 
deal more fact than fancy in the new idea. Why, the ancient 
patriarchs knew more about the treatment of the blues than 


330 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


we do. When one of those wise, be-whiskered old fellows 
got cranky, he sent for a minstrel boy or a troupe of dancing 
girls, and made life merry with the timbrel, and harp, and 
dancing — with the glowing wine of the country on the side. 
And we, despite our Patti’s and Calve’s and Tamagno’s, to 
say nothing of our modern ballets, can’t even keep off ennui ! 
We ought to be ashamed of ourselves! 

“Of course, there are some folks who go to the opera 
just to see, and be seen of, others. These constitute the 
majority of the professed connoisseurs of the lyric stage. 
When these people aim their lorgnettes at you, with such a 
supercilious air of ineffable superiority, they are merely per- 
forming the only function for which nature designed them — 
that of quizzing human beings. Their curiosity is pardonable; 
a real, live man or woman is a wonderful object to them. 

“ But I am drifting away from the subject, which was my 
wife’s prescription. — 

“ It seems that my good wife is as ‘regular ’ in her dosing 
as I am. She evidently believes that systematic and evenly 
divided doses, actively followed up, constitute the best 
method of treatment for chronic cases like mine. At least, so 
one would think from her energetic management of my case. 
I’ll pledge you my word, sir, that I haven’t seen a patient 
after dark, since that first memorable evening at the opera 
— excepting, of course, a few emergency calls and ‘ census ’ 
cases. I have attended the opera, a concert, an illustrated 
lecture, or something of the kind, almost every night since I 
saw you last — and, to be perfectly frank with you, I rather 
like it. It seems to agree with me, and I’m going to keep it 
up. My wife says she believes I am a good, industrious hus- 
band and ought to have a little enjoyment as I go along. Like 
a certain Irishman, I am henceforth going to ‘ live whoile Oi 
live, for, be jabbers! Oi’ll be a long toime dead.’ 

“But we are forgetting our story telling, and it’s getting 
well on toward nine o’clock.” 


“The consideration of my wife’s prescription and its 
musical ingredients, recalls to my mind the story of a faithful 
old negro, who worked for me when I was practicing in 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


331 


A , who worked for me many years, in fact, and died in 

harness, poor old man. 

“Old Abraham, or ‘Abe,’ as we used to call him, had 
been a body servant of a cousin of my mother’s — General 
McCreery — as gallant an old ‘rebel’ as ever loved the ‘ stars 
and bars.’ When the general died, he bequeathed Abe to my 
mother — for the old negro, to his dying day, believed himself 
a chattel of the family, and absolutely refused to consider 
himself ‘one er dem free niggahs, marster,’ even in theory. 
His wages were regarded by him in the light of a gratuity, 
for which he was always, ‘sarvent, marster, an’ I tanks 
yo’ bery much, sah, fo’ yo’ kineness ter de ole man.’ 
When mother, in her turn, followed the starry path of the 
true believer, old Abe fell to me — a fortunate thing for him, 
for I was the last of the old stock, and while Abe was broken- 
hearted over his ‘kine ole mistis’’ death, he was ready to 
resignedly accept the situation, providing he could ‘ stay in 
de fam’ly, Marse Doctah.’ 

“As you might suppose, Abe was a special pet of mine. 
He was the last link that bound me to the old life, and I loved 
him for the sake of ‘auld lang syne,’ as well as for his many 
good qualities — for he was the simplest, most sincere, and 
kindest-hearted creature I ever knew — white or black. My 
children were so attached to the old negro that they were 
actually disconsolate when he was not about, to sing his 
quaint songs or make outlandish toys for them, such as no 
toy shop ever saw. Abe watched over ‘ de chillun ’ like a 
faithful old dog, and woe betide anybody who annoyed them ! 
I remember one occasion when I had considerable trouble in 
convincing the old man that he was not in duty bound to ‘sick 
de dawg on dat Irish trash whut done frowed stuns at Marse 
Bob, sah!’ 

“Abe had been with the family so long, that he was a 
privileged character, so I was not surprised one day, to 
hear him grumbling over his chores. It seems that his 
‘mistis’ had put him to work cleaning up the cages of her pet 
canaries. As I happened to pass the little summer-house 
where he was fond of sitting when the weather was pleasant, 
I heard him growling and grumbling over his task like an 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


332 



old terrier over a bone. I stood listening" for a moment, when, 
perceiving" me, the old man looked up and said, rather con- 
fusedly : 

‘“W’y, is dat yo’, Marse Doctah ? Didn’ know yo’ wuz 
’roun’ sah, deed’n I didn’t— I hopes yo’s bery well sah!’ 

“‘I am very well, I thank 
you, Abe, but I fear you are 
not, for it appeared to me that 
you were making more fuss 
over your work than usual. 

You don’t seem to be very 
fond of canary birds, Abe.’ 


“ AINT yo’ ’shamed ER YO’SEF, MARSE k’NARY?” 

“‘Foil’ ob ’em, sah ! fon’ ob ’em! well, I ruddah guess 
not! Say, Marse Doctah, whuffo’ yo’ done keep dem ole 
k’nary birds ’roun’ hyah sah? Dey’s jes’ g"ood f’r nuffin, 
dat’s whut dey is! Dey jes’ loafs ’roun’ in dat shiny caig"e, 
an’ eats ’bout er bushel er dem fancy kines er g-rain ebery day, 
an’ renses demsefs off in dat crock’ry cup ’n eats lettuces ’n 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


333 


sugah, an’ dat’s ebery blessud ting- dat dey duz ! Dey jes’ doan’ 
’mount ter shucks, dat’s whut dey doan’t, yo’ heah me 
shoutin’, an’ dis chile doan’ see whut de debb’l dey’s good 
fo’ nohow! Fo’ Gawd, marster! I done hope dat caige fall 
outen de windah one er dese fine days, ef ’twuzn’t fo’ little 
missy cryin’ her pooty eyses out sah ! ’ 

“ ‘Now, see here, Abe, you are talking foolishly. Have 
you no eye for the beautiful, and no ear for the melody of 
nature’s feathered songsters? Have you never wandered 
’neath the green of the leaves in the early spring and heard 
the beauteous strains of nature’s orchestra? Go ’long Abe; 
the soul of harmony is not in you! Your Senegambian an- 
cestors would be ashamed of you, for has it not been said 
that ‘ music hath charms to soothe the savage breast?’ And 
by the way, Abraham, I have noticed that you act rather 
queerly when my wife plays the piano. If you happen to be 
in the house within ear-shot of the music room, and the piano 
begins its melodious work, you usually ‘scoot’ for the barn. 
Now, I want you to understand sir, that ‘scooting’ during my 
wife’s hours of practice, is a boon that is even denied to me, 
and I want you to at least remain within call hereafter. If I 
should ever be compelled to go to the barn after you— well, I 
might be tempted to stay there, and that wouldn’t be con- 
ducive to my domestic happiness.’ 

“Abe hung his head for a moment — the satire was lost 
upon him, but some of my words were so far beyond his ken, 
that he evidently imagined them fitted for the correction of 
the most depraved and hardened character. At last he said, 
apologetically — 

“‘Fo’ Gawd, Marse Doctah, didn’ mean no ha’m sah; 
deed’n I didn’t! Jes’ ’pears like de folks heah erway doan’ 
hab de same kine er yeahs like de niggahs hab in de Souf, whar 
I wuz done raised. W’y, marster, de niggahs on de ole place, 
’way down in Georgy whar I come fum, wuz all jes’ like me. 
Dey nebbah did like dem ole rattle boxes dat de ladies at de 
big house use ter play. I doan’ know nuffin ’bout dem ’Gam- 
bians ’n dem ancestors ’n sav’ges nohow. I s’pose dey’s 
some er dem wile niggahs like er man whut wuz preachin in 
de ole meetin’ house down home, wuz er sayin’ wuz de ole 


334 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


stock ob all de nig-g-ahs in de Souf. But dat man wuz a ole 
foolish, dat’s whut he wuz! He didn’ know nuffin! D’yo’ 
s’pose ole Marse Georg'e Washin’ton would hab enny er dem 
ole sav’ges ’bout his place? Deed’n he wouldn’t, sah, deed’n 
he wouldn’t. An’ wuzn’t us niggahs ’scended fum dem same 
ole ’lutionary niggahs like dat gre’t man hed ’roun’ him? 
Marse Doctah, yo’s mos’ de greates’ man dat ebah I seed, 

sah, but yo’ mus’n’ 
be follerin’ ’long at- 
ter sich foolish ole 
fellahs like dat ole 
preacher wuz — dey’s 
crazy, dat’s whut 
dey is, jes’ plum 
crazy, sah, an’ aint 
got no brains. Yo’ 
heah whut I’s tellin’ 
yo’, honey. 

“ ‘Doan’ make no 
diff’unce ’bout dem 
sav’ges, nohow, dar 
aint no music in dem 
ole tin pans whut’s 
called pi-anners. 
Bim ! Bim! Boom! 
Boom ! Rat- tat- tat ! 
Slam -bang! Is dat 
whut yo’ calls music, 
marster? Huh! dis 
chile ruddah listen 
ter a ole gobbler, er 
a yallah-hammah on 
dat ar ole dead tree ! 
Music! W’y, de rattlin’ er dat ole machine done goes up’n 
down de spine er ma backbone jes’ like dar wuz er big 
squirr’l inside, er runnin’ up’n down wid er gre’t big cockle- 
burr in his mouf. B-r-r-r! ’Deed, marster, yo’ kain’ fool dis 
yeh niggah ’bout dat bein’ music, deed’n yo’ kaint! 

“ ‘Dar’s one ting I’s bery tankful fo’, marster— dar aint 



OVER THE HOOKAH. 


335 


no pi-anners up dar in de New Jerus’lem. Ma ole mistis in 
de Souf,an’ de sweet little missy dat I done watched grow up 
to er big- young- lady an’ helped ter bury when she wuz dead, 
use ter like ter play on de pi-anner — an’ I’d almos’ be willin’ 
ter Stan’ it, sah, ef I could only see dem ag-in — but praise de 
Lawd! dey ain’ got nuffin but harps ’n sim biers ’n salters 
'll tings like dat, up dar, an I’s bin er wond’rin’ ef dey doan’ 
hab de banjo way up yander — dat’s de niggah’s harp. Tell 
yo’ whut, Marse Doctah, daraint no music in all de world like 
dat er de banjo. Talk erbout yo’ ’kestrahs ’n’ brass ban’s ’n 
truck like dat! w’y, dey’s no whar ’long side er de banjo. 
’Deed marster, an’ I hopes yo’ll done ’membah dat, ’long ’bout 
Chris’mas time, sah. Use ter play him right smaht, sah, 
mase’f. Ma ole ban’s is gittin’ kine er stiff, sah, but I ain’ 
too ole ter try ter brush up agin. I kaint shuffle like I use 
ter, but I reckon I ain’ fo’git how ter pat dese yeh ole feet in 
keepin’ time. 

“ ‘ P’raps yo’d like ter know how ter cuah some er dese 
ole niggahs dat’s got de rheumatiz? I know yo’s right 
peart at docterin’, sah, but some er dese ole niggah fellahs 
done got ’em — whut yo’ call ’em? Oh, de chronickers, an’ all 
de doctah 's pizen — beggin’ yo’ pa’don, sah — in de hull world, 
doan’ do ’em no good. Yo’ mout rub de goose grease ’n 
snake ile on dere ole jints till de cows come home, an’ yo’ doan’ 
do ’em no good. But jes’ let ’em hear de plunk er de ole 
banjo, an’ de squawkin’ ob a ole niggah fiddle, an’ yo’ nebbah 
seed nuffin like de way dey gits obah de rheumatiz. Sakes 
alibe, marster 1 dar’s nuffin limbahs up a ole niggah’s jints 
like dat music — ’ceptin’ er ’coon track, er de ebenin’ squawk 
ob er chick’n whut done got hissef lef’ out er doors in de cole 
when his bruddahs an’ sistahs done gone ter roos’. 

“ ‘ Doan’ know w’y ’tis, Marse Doctah, but dar’s sumpen 
’bout de banjo dat’s bery ’spirin’. ’Pears like de chu’ch ’d 
be bettah pat’nized ef dey wuz ter hab de banjo played in de 
sarvice. Dar’s lots ob ole niggahs jes’ like me, sah, dat 
ruddah go ter hebben wid de plink! plink! plinketyl plink! 
er de banjo, dan wid all de heb’nly cho’uses er singin’, an’ all 
de golden harps er twangin’ all ter once. Yo’ see, marster, 
dar’s er heap er diffunce how yo’ works on a niggah’s feelin’s. ’ 


336 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ Why,’ said I, hoping- to draw the old man out, even at 
the expense of chang-ing a most interesting subject, ‘how is 
that, Abe? I had always supposed that sacred music and 
the roar of a church organ were most powerful arguments in 
the conversion of the negro.’ 

“ ‘Dat’s all right ’bout de gospel hymns sah, but I’s tellin’ 
yo’ dat de groanin’ an’ wheezin’ ob a ole organ doan’ ’vert 
nobody ’mong de niggahs. Bar’s some ways dat yo’ can 
’press de niggah wid de need er his soul’s salbation, an’ dar’s 
some uddah ways dat yo’ done shoo him olf, sho’s yo’ bawn. 
W’y, dar wuz a ole bob’litionist fellah whut come ’long er 
preachin’ down whar I use ter lib, dat use ter be pow’ful 
’zortin, an’ use ter keep de mo’ner’s bench plum full all de 
time. We use ter tink he wuz gwine ter be de salbation ob 
ebery niggah in de hull county. He wuz dat movin’, an' dat 
pow’ful, dat eben dem Georgy crackahs,use ter feel de touch 
er de Lawd on dere souls. 

‘‘‘He! he! he! Ef yo’ done knowed dem ole crackahs, 
marster, yo’d done blieb dat enny man dat could move dem, 
could ’vert de bery ole debb’l hissef. But he ke.p’ on er 
preachin’ an’ er prayin’, an’ er ’zortin’, till he done obah- 
retch hissef an’ den dat wuz de last er him.’ 

“ ‘ Overreached himself, Abe ; in what way ? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Well, yo’ see marster, ’twuz dis er way. One Sunday 
mornin’ he wuz‘er preachin’ ’way ’bout de ’ternal punishin’ 
er de onbliebah, an’ wuz tellin’ us niggahs all ’bout hell. He 
done tole us ’bout de debb’l an’ his angels all er wearin’ red 
cloze, an’ doin’ nuffin but prod sinnah men on er fawk, jes’ like 
er hay fawk, all day long. 

‘“Oh, ma breddren!” sez he, “ yo’ mus’ all stribe ter 
keep ’way fum dar! W’y, ma breddren and sistren, hell is er 
Ian’ er ’petual hotness! It’s hottah down dar dan de hot 
springs ! De groun’ gibs fo’th hot vapahs ’n de Ian’s all 
cubbahd obah wid sizzlin’ steam, jes’ like out’n er steam 
injine! On de udder han’, ma breddren and sistren, jes’ look 
at hebben— jes’ look at it! W’y, it’s so cool up dar, dat while 
de po’ sinnahs down b’low is er fryin’ in de pan, de righteous 
man up dar, kin play snowball, an’ look down on de onbliebah 
an’ say, ‘Hallo dar! yo’ ole sinnah man! doan’ vo’ wish vo' 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


337 



vvuz up hyah, er settin’ on dis cole cloud, an’ wearin’ er dis 
yeh nice sealskin obahcoat?’ Dat, ma breddren an’ sistren, 
done shows yo’ de punishment er 
de ung’awdly whut walks in de ways 
er de debb’l.” 

“ ‘Well, Abe,’ said I, ‘your cler- 
g'yman was certainly very g-raphic, 
and quite fervently in earnest. He 
must have been idolized by his con- 
g-reg-ation. ’ 

“ ‘ Doan’ know nuffin’ ’bout no 
g-rafi&c, Marse Doctah, an’ doan’ 
know whut yo’ means by iderlized, 
but dat ar sarmon done busted up 
de chu’ch,sah.” 

“ ‘Broke up the church! Why, 

Abe, how could that be?’ 

“ ‘ Dat’s easy ’nuff ’splained,sah ; 
erbout half er dat cong-’ashun done 
g-ot de rheumatiz ter beat de bery 
debb’l, an’ when dey foun’ out dat 
hebben wuz er cole place, dey jes’ 
done backslide, ebery nig-g-ah ob ’em. 

Ef dat fool preachah ’d undahstood 
his bizness, he’d done g’ot er banjo, 



“DOAN’ yo’ wish yo’ WUZ UP HYAH?” 


wioiHinumufiiiim tifMiiHHMHHWifmniMiraiiiiMMiw™ 


338 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

an’ plunked ’em all ter hebben widout talkin’ ’bout de climate. 
Some ob us nig’g'ahs doan’ know much, sab, but mos’ ob us ’d 
ruddah slide ter hell on er sunbeam, dan clime ter hebben 
on a icickle, an’ dat’s sho’s yo’ bawn. 

“ ‘ Yo’ see, Marse Doctor, we nig-g-ahs like ter hab ting's 
made plain t’ us, but yo’ mus' be bery keerful how yo’ 
’splain ebery ting-. W’y, sah, dar wuz one ole fellah down in 
Georg'y,dat use ter try ’splainin’ ting's ter de nigg'ahs er his 
chu’ch, an’ dey use ter brag' dat dere preachah wuz de mos’ 
larndedest preachah in de hull state er Georg'y, but one ole 
brack nig'g'ah wench done ruin’d de ole man’s prospec’s jes’ 
by one little quessh’n. She worked fo’ Marse Prince on de 
same plantation wid me. Yo’ see, she wuz one er dem free 
nig'g'ahs, dat de ole Kunnel done freed ’count er his g'al 
dat died, an’ dat Lize use’ ter nuss when she wuz er baby. 
Lize Prince mouter bin stuck up — I doan’ say she wuzn’t, 
but she’d hed er rig'ht smart chance ter g'it plenty er book 
lamin’, an’ she knowed jes’ how ter use it, too. Well, she 
hed er little baby, ’bout er yeah ole, dat wuz de cussedest 
little moke dat mos’ ebah yo’ seed in all yo’ bawn days. 
Lize couldn’t do nuffin wid him, jes’ nufihn ’tall, so she done 
said she ’lowed she wuz g'wine take him ter de preachah, 
ter see ef he couldn’t g-ib her some ’vice ’bout de brat. 

“‘While she wuz er walkin’ ’long down de road ter de 
preachah’s place, she wuz wond’rin’ how she’d ’gin de con- 
bersashun ’bout de young one. ’Twouldn’t do ter lose de 
chance ter show her eddicashun, so she ’eluded ter ’gin by 
tryin’ er little scripter ter fit de case er de brack little rask’l. 
So she went inter de preachah’s house, she did, an’ ’lowed 
she’d like ter see ’im. He come inter de room whar she wuz 
er settin’, an’ neah’s I kin ’membah, dis is whut happen. De 
preachah come walkin’ in, kinder stiff ’n’ solium like, an’ sez — 

‘ “Well, ma good woman, whut kin I do fo’ yo’?” 

‘ “Well, Marse Preachah,” sez Lize, er lookin’ him right 
in de eye — oh, she wuzn’t fear’d er de ole debb’l hissef, much 
less er preachah, Lize wuzn’t — “Yo’ kain’t do nuffin fo’ me 
puss’nally, ’ceptin thoo ma only begotten chile, an’ I jes’ wants 
ter ax yo’ one quessh’n, fo’ we goes inter de ’tails er de 
case, ef yo’s willin’, sah.” 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


339 


‘“W’y, ob co’se I’s willin’,’’ sez de preachati. “Aint I 
de shep’d er all de lam’s er Gawd in dis yeh deestrick? Whut’s 
de quessh’n, ma g-ood woman?” 

‘ “ Well, sah, whut I’d like ter know is, wheddah dis yeh 

chile is er serrafeem 



“I’d jes’ like ter know whut he is, sah.” 


cherrabeem contin’aly do cry, an’ dis yeh little brack rask’l is 
er squallin’ all de bressed time, sah, an’ I’d jes’ like ter know 
whut he is, sah, an’ praise de Lawd! I tink yo’ kin tole me, 
sah.” 


340 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


‘“Woman!” sez de preachah, “dat’s de mos’ onrebb’- 
rent ’terrag’ation dat ebab I heahd! G’ ’long’ ’way now, an’ 
doan’ yo’ dahken de do’ ob de house er de Lawd ag-in ’till 
yo’s er ’pentant woman ! Yo’s er bery wicked sinnah, 
dat’s whut yo’ is!” 

“ ‘If ebah dar wuz er mad woman ’twuz dat same Lize. 
She wuz madder ’n er g-um tree full er bumble bees. Whew! 
De way she done flew down de road tow’ds home wuz er sig-ht 
better’n er boss race at de fair. An’ mebbe yo’ tink she 
didn’ tole all de sistahs ’bout de ig-nunce er dat preachah! 
De upshot er de mattah wuz, dat de lam’s done quit de chu’ch, 
an’ dat fool preachah hed ter g-it obah inter Alabamy mig-hty 
quick. Yo’ see, marster, in dem days, nig-g-ah preachahs 
wuzn’t none too pop’lar wid de white qual’ty nohow, an’ er bery 
little ’scuse wuz all dat wuz ness’ary ter g-it ’em er nice coat 
er tar an’ chick’n feddahs. When de cullud folks went back 
on ’em, den dey wuz g-one sho ’nuff !’ 

“You can imagine, my dear boy, how entertaining Abe’s 
ideas of the religious instruction of the negro were. I could 
have listened to him for a week. Knowing, however, that the 
subject was a perennially fresh one in the mind of the average 
negro, and not being so sure of my ground as regards the 
negro conception of music, I regretfully changed the subject 
and reverted to the original r61e to which I had assigned Abe 
— that of a musical critic. 

“ ‘By the way, Abe, we have wandered from the subject 
a trifle. We were talking of music, I believe, and I confess 
that your ideas about the banjo as an instrument for the 
cure of rheumatism and the conversion of sinners, were 
very instructive to me. However, you have forgotten your 
original theme, which revolved around your intense hatred of 
canary birds.’ 

“I saw that Abe was somewhat bewildered by my 
remarks, so I brought him back to earth by saying — 

“‘Tell me, Abe, what are your objections to canary 
birds?’ 

‘“’flections, marster? dis niggah aint got no ’jections 
ter k’nary birds. Dey’s all right in dere place, sah, but dey’s 
de mos’ wuffless fowlses in de world. Dey mebbe bery nice 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


341 


in de woods whar dey come fum, but dey’s Dutch, an’ I doan’ 
like dese for’ners nohow. Some folks tinks dey’s ornymental, 
I s’pose, an’ I doan’ say but whut dey is ruddah nice lookin’, 
wid dere yallah wing's, butg’ood Lawd! marster, dey’s no g'ood 
fer song- birds, an’ dey mus’ be ruddah slim eatin’ — dey ain’ no 
bigg-ah ’n yo’ thumb, sah.’ 

“‘Yes, my captious critic,’ I replied, ‘but everybody 
admires their singing, and most people think them superior 
to all other feathered creatures as songsters.’ 

“ ‘ Dat’s all bery well,sah, but de people dat knows whut 
dey’s talkin’ ’bout, an’ whut real singin’ is, doan’ talk like 
dat. Jes’ heah dat yallah bellied sparrer — dat’s all he is, sah ! 
Jes’ heah him er trillin’! ’pears like he’s tryin’ ter bust his- 
sef, doan’ it marster? Trill! lill! lill! chirp! chirp! chee! 
chee! choo! choo! choo! chreep! Jes’ look at him now, 
Marse Doctah. Shoo ! g’ long ! Stop yo’ screechin’ an’ 
chirpin’, yo’ ole foolish yo’! Ain’ nobody gwine pay yo’ 
no ’tention, marse k’nary, so’ yo’ mout jes' as well sabe all er 
dat win’ yo’s wastin’ ! 

“ ‘ So, dat’s whut yo’ calls er singstah,sah, an’ dat’s s’posed 
ter be good singin’, hey? 

“ ‘ Marse Doctah, us ’Mericans orter be ’shamed er 
ouahsefs ter pulf dese yeh for ’in fowlses whut kaint do no 
bettah ’n dat. Wuz yo’ ebbah in de country, sah? Den yo’s 
heahd bettah singin’ ’n dat. Did yo’ ebbah see de bobo- 
linkum bird er buzzin’ up agin de win’ like er big brack 
an’ yallah buttahfly,an’ heah him er singin’ so wile an’ free, jes’ 
like his little haht wuz er obahflowin’ wid happ’ness an’ joy? 
Dat’s er bird sah, whut is er bird! Oh, whut er brack an’ 
yallah beauty he is, sah! Wheddah de sky is er smilin’ er 
frownin’, wheddah de rain is er failin’ like a waterfall, er 
drizzle, drizzle, drizzle, yo’ kin see de bobolinkum flutterin’ in 
de air obah de grass an’ de reeds, an’ heah him er singin’ de 
gladdes’ ob songs. ’Pears like when de sky is de brackes’ 
he is de happies’. 

“ ‘ Nudder ting ’bout dat bobolinkum, marster, he’s alius 
de bes’ in his bizness. When he’s up hyah in de Norf,he’s in 
de singin’ bizness, an he gibs de bes’ singin’ in de world. 
Den he done change his obahcoat, an’ put on his summah close. 


342 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


an’ g’o Souf, whar he turns rice-buntin’ an’ goes inter de prov- 
endah bizness, an’ gits ter be de bes’ eatin’ on de yeth. 

“ ‘ Whut de debb’l duz we take a ole eagle, fo’ de nash’nal 
bird fo’? A eagle ain’ nowhar ’longside ob er bobolinkum. 
Dat’s de greates’ bird in yo’ hull passel er birds, sah. He’s 
pooty ter look at, sweet ter de yeah, an’ melts in yo’ mouf. 
Aint yo’ ’shamed er yo’sef, marse k’nary bird, when yo’ heah 
dis niggah talkin’ ’bout yo’ bettahs? Doan’ yo’ “cheep” 
back at me, sah, er dis niggah ’lows he mout try yo’ tastin’ 
one er dese fine days ! ’ 

“‘But,’ said I, ‘you surely have something good to say 
about some of our strictly southern birds. One who, like 
yourself, has been raised where the whistle and call of the 
mocking bird delight the very air, and where beautiful song- 
sters are almost too numerous to mention, must admire other 
birds besides the plebeian bobolink.’ 

“ ‘Jes’ so, Marse Doctah; I doan’ know ’bout de plebe’an 
but I wuz gib’n yo’ de bes’ all-de-way-’ round bird dat I knows 
ob. Bar’s some er de Souf birds dat’s mos’ too good ter 
talk ’bout, sah. De mockin’ bird? Deed’n he does ’light de 
bery air, sah. I kin ’membah how ma ole mammy use ter 
sing ter me ’bout de mockin’ bird, in er sweet song ’bout er 
man whut done gone ’way fum his home in de Soufland. I 
tink ’twuz er song dat mammy use ter call “De Sweet Sunny 
Souf,” er sumpen like dat. I kin heah her sweet voice er 
singin’ now — 

“ Take me back to de place whar I first saw de light, 

To de sweet sunny Souf take me home, 

Whar de mockin’ bird sung me ter rest eb’ry night, 

Oh why wuz I tempted ter roam?” 

“ ‘An’ while ma mammy wuz er singin’ dat sweet song, 
dar wuz er big mockin’ bird er singin’ erway in de ole mag- 
nolia tree jes’ by de windah ob ouah little cabin. Po’ ole 
mammy! Dat little brack pick’ninny whut yo’ sung ter 
sleep, is a ole man now, but he nebbah kin fo’git dat de 
mockin’ bird hed er hard time er keepin’ up his rep’tashun 
’longside er deah ole mammy’s singin’. 

“‘De mockin’ bird didn’t hab no ribal bye ’n’ bye, sah, 
fo’ po’ ole mammy died, an’ lef’ her brack baby boy ter roam 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


343 



de yeth ’n’ grow up ’mong- strang-ahs ’long- way fum de ole 
cabin. 

“ ‘ De mockin’ bird’s been singin’ obah er grassy moun’ 
’way down in Georgy, whar po’ mammy lies, fo’ mo’n fawty- 
fibe yeahs, an’ her boy hez sung er bout de sweet sunny Souf, 
many er time since de ole plantashun days — an’ felt it, too. 


‘“Sense me, Marse Doctah, dese yeh ’lectric lights dat 
yo’ all hab hyah in dis yeh town, is bery tryin’ fo’ de ole man’s 
eyes, sah, an’ ’sides, ’pears like I’s ketched er cole, sah, an’ I’s 
bery much ’feard yo’s done gone an’ got in er draff yo’sef, sah. ’ 


“WHAR DE mockin’ BIRD 
SUNG ME TER REST.” 



344 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Abe was right — those electric lights were rather trying 
to the eyes, and my vigorous use of my pocket handkerchief 
was indeed, strongly suggestive of a cold. 

“ ‘ What a blessing the nasal duct is, my boy ! Women’s 
emotions overflow at their beautiful eyes, while ours — well, 
they drain away in the guise of a beastly cold in the head, 
thus enabling us to remain imperturbable in the face of dis- 
turbing emotions.’ 

“ Having blown my nose a few times, I said, ‘ Go on, Abe. ’ 

“ ‘ But I’s gwine tell yo’ ’bout ernuddah bird dat done 
beats ’em all, Marse Doctah. Er long time fo’ de war, I 
wuz workin’ ’long de ’Sippy ribbah, doin’ roust-’boutin’ an’ all 
dat so’t er work, an’ I didn’ heah much er de mockin’ bird down 
dar, but dar wuz ernuddah bird dat I’d heahd sing befo’, but 
nebbah like I heahd him down dar. Dat wuz de whipperwill, 
sah. ’Pears like dat bird hez been all mixt ’n tangled up wid 
ma life ebah since. Sing? dar nebbah wuz no sich singin’! 
Dey’s heahd up Norf hyah some times, sah, but nebbah like 
dey sings down Souf. Dere thoats done grow biggah an’ 
dere win’ gits strongah in de Souf. W’y, all de k’nary birds, 
an’ bobolinkums, an’ robins, an’ blue jays, an’ thushes in de 
hull world, wouldn’t make one note fo’ de whipperwill ! 

“ ‘ ’Pears like de note er de whipperwill done follah’d me 
all obah de Souf. I ’membah when I wuz er courtin’ ma po* 
Elsa, dat’s been sleepin’ wid our po’ little Aby — de brightes’, 
brackes’, woolly-headed little pick’ninny dat ebah wuz bawn, 
sah — fo’ so many yeahs, de whipperwill done gone made mo’ 
lub dan I did. I doan’ know wheddah yo’ ebbah felt dat 
erway, sah, but when eberyting dat yo’ wants ter say 
comes up inside er yo’ collar an’ done mos’ smuddah yo’, it’s 
kine er handy ter hab er bird ’roun’ dat knows de bizness, 
an’s willin’ ter gib yo ’ er han’. Dat’s de kine ob bird de 
whipperwill is, sah. 

“‘Po’ Elsa! an’ ma precious little Aby! Yo’s sleepin’ 
whar no ebenin’ shades ’ll ebbah fall, widout bringin’ de 
sweet song er de whipperwill ! — 

“ ‘ D’ yo’ know, sah, dat de song er dat bird wuz er big 
part er my gittin’ ’ligion? Yes, sah, dat’s so, an’ I’ll tell yo’ 
’bout how ’twuz. Yo’ see, Marse Doctah, ma Elsa wuz raised 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


345 


by ole Jedge Merriman down in Kaintucky. De ole Jedge 
wuz er ’ligious so’t er fellah, an’ I mus’ say dat he libbed 
up ter his ’feshions ’n treated de niggahs jes’ like dey wuz 
his own chillun. — Doan’ s’pose you folks up Norf undahstan’ 
nuffin ’bout dat, sah, but dar’s many er po’ ole niggah dat 
wish dar nebbah wuz no war ! 

“‘Well, Elsa done got ’ligion, jes’ like de res’ er de 
fam’ly. She wuz er yallah gal — er reg’lar yallah rose she 
wuz, too — an’ use ter wait on ole Miss Merriman. Now, 
when Elsa marr’d me, she knowed jes’ whut she wuz doin’. 
She took de bigges’ contrack on her ban’s dat she ebbah 
tackled in all her bawn days. Yo’ see marster, I lamed 
some tings when I wuz er young buck, dat wuzn’t none too 
good fo’ er niggah nohow. I wuz on dem ’Sippy ribbah boats 
er heap too much, an’ one er my young marsters wuz er blood, 
an’ done teached memo’ ’bout gamblin’ an’ racin’ bosses, dan 
wuz good fo’ er plain, orn’ry, ebery-day moke like I wuz. 
But Elsa made er new niggah out er me sah, an’ I tought 
she mout be sats’fied; but sakes alibe, marster, she wuzn’t! 
She done kep’ er dingin’ erway at me, ’till I jes’ couldn’t 
Stan’ it no longah sah, an’ den I promis’ dat I’d speak right 
out in meetin’, an’ ’fess up dat I wuz er wicked sinnah man, 
an’ git de grace ob de Lawd, an’ de fo’gibness er Christ dat 
’ud wash ma haht like washin’ de lam’s in de brook, ready 
fo’ de shearin’. 

“ ‘ One ebenin’, after de sun went down obah de range 
er hills behind ouah little cabin, Elsa took me ter de do’, 
an’ pinted ter de ole log meetin’ house ’way up on de side er 
de hill on de town road, an’ sez ter me — “Abr’ham, ma 
husban’, ma deah ole man, dar is de temple er de Lawd, on 
de hill er Zion! Dar’s gwine ter be er meetin’ dar ter night, 
an’ dar’s gwine ter be de bigges’ rasslin’ match dat ebah yo’ 
seed. Ole Marse Satan’s gwine ter hab er rassle wid de 
sarv’nts er de Lawd, an’ I want’s yo’, ma honey, ter be dar, 
an’ take er han’ in de rasslin’ on yo’ own ercount. Dar’s de 
road ter salbation, Abr’ham; take it, an’ doan’ show yo’ 
brack face in dis yeh cabin agin, ’less’n yo’ comes wid de 
sperrit er de Lawd in yo’ haht!” 

“‘Now, Marse Doctah, I ain’ gwine ter say dat I didn’ 


346 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


look back, while 1 wuz er dim ’in’ dat ole hill. ’Fear’d like I 
wuz er walkin’ mo’n fo’teen miles, ’fo’ I done retch dat ar 
meetin’ house, an’ all er de way, it done seemed like I didn’ 
hab no choosin’ ’bout de mattah. In front er me wuz de 
debb’l, an’ behind me wuz Elsa an’ de baby. Well, I jes’ kep’ 
’long’ er clim’in’, an’ er dim ’in’ — dat’s whut I did, sah, an’ all 



de while I wuz 
makin’ up ma 
mine dat ole 
Marse Satan wuz 
gwine ter hab de 
tussle er his life 
soon ez I done 
retched ’im. 

“ ‘ ’Bout de time 

“GO TEK SLEEP, OH MAMMY’S LITTLE BRACK LAM’. ” ^ WUZ er Stampill 

on de old debb’l 

— in ma mine — I ’ribed at de do’ er de place whar de fightin’ 
wuz gwine on. Tell yo’ whut, marster, dar ain’ no use talkin’, 
dat ole debb’l is a pow’ful plucky fellah! W’y, de shoutin’ 
an’ de singin’ in dar, done skeered dis niggah mos’ ter def! 
But dar wuz some glad singin’ in dar, too, an’ I heahed er 




OVER THE HOOKAH. 


347 


voice dat soun’ mig-hty sweet ter me. ’Feared like it wuz er 
voice dat sounded loudah an’ sweetah dan all de uddahs. 
Dis chile ain’ bery ’stitious, sah, but I nebbah could fine out 
who dat wuz er sing-in’ dat er way, an’ sho’s yo’ bawn, sah, 
while I wuz er list’nin’, dat ole meetin’ house done faded 
away jes’ like er fog-, an’ I seed er little house dat I use ter 
know ’way down in Georg-y, many, many yeahs befo’! Doan’ 
know how ’twuz, Marster, but ming-lin’ wid de voice dat wuz 
er sing-in’, “Jesus washed ma sins away,” wuz ernuddah 
voice dat seemed ter come outen de windah ob de little 
Georg-y home, an’ sho’s yo’ lib, sah, ’twuz ma ole mammy 
sing-in’ — 

“Now g-o ter sleep, oh mammy’s little black lam’, 

Yo’ daddy’s cornin’ back fum ole Alabam’. ’’ 

“ ‘I didn’ tell yo’ all, ’bout how ole Marse Trumbull hed 
sich er lot er trouble ’bout ma daddy, did I? Well, he 
b’long-ed ter Kunnel Barbah, an’ de ole Kunnel ’n Marse 
Trumbull hed er failin’ out ’bout er hog- trade, an’ ole 
man Barbah done sole ma daddy off inter Alabamy, jes’ 
cayse he knowed dat Marse Trumbull wuz bery fond er ma 
mammy, cayse she nussed him thoo de tyfus febah one 
time. Ole marse done promis’ dat he’d buy ma daddy 
back, but jes’ like all ouah folks he wuz pow’ful slow ’bout 
ting-s like dat. ’Twuz mo’n er yeah, fo’ he g-ot de chance 
ter buy him fum a Alabamy tradah, an’ de way dat ole tradah 
done skun ma ole marster wuz er caution ter white folks. 
But ef ole marse could er watched de inside er dat little cabin, 
an’ seed de way ma mammy took on obah ma daddy, he’d done 
t’oug-ht dat job er nussin’ come pretty cheap, arter all. 

“‘But whar wuz I? Oh yes, I ’membah, sah, I wuz 
standin’ at de do’ ob de ole meetin’ house er list’nin’ to de 
sing-in’ — an’ lookin’ cl’ar pas’ de ole chu’ch ’n way off down in 
Georg-y. — 

“ ‘Bye ’n bye, while I wuz er lookin’, de sing-in’ died er- 
way, an’ de little Georgy home faded inter de gad’rin’ gloom 
er de ebenin’, an’ I foun’ masef dar at de do’ ob de ole meetin’ 
house,an’ eberyting wuz quiet, jes’ like I wuz all ’lone up dar 
on de hill — Dey wuz er prayin’ ter deresefs in dar. 

“ ‘I stood dar er while, tinkin’ wheddah I bettah go ’long 


348 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


in, er gwine home, an’ fine’ly I done ’cided dat I wuz a 
ole foolish ter ’low ma wife to shove me inter de chu’ch jes’ 
like I wuz er man whut didn’ know his own mine. “I’ll jes’ 
g’ ’long home,” sez I ter masef, “an’ I’ll show ma wife 
dat I’s de boss er de roos’, er else I’s gwine hiah some 
uddah niggah ter kick me, good ’n hard!” Wid dat in ma 
mine I done turned erway, an’ wuz jes’ gwine ter go down de 
hill, when I heahed er sweet soun’, ’way below tow’ds ma 
little cabin, dat made me stop right dar whar I wuz. 

‘ “Whip ’will!” ’Way down dar, ’mong de trees in de ribbah 
bottom, ma pet bird wiiz er callin’ ter me jes’ ez ef he wuz 
boun’ ter make me heah ’im. 

‘“Whip’will! whipperwill! whip-per-will! whip-per- 
will-1-1!” 

“ ‘ ’Peard like dat bird done knowed I wuz er list’nin’ 
ter his sweet melodium, fo’ soon ez I stopped, he poured out 
sich er waterfall er music, dat inside er two minnits he done 
hed me cryin’ like er baby. Dat wuz er mighty ’fectin’ 
song, dat bird wuz er singin’, an’ ’twuz mo’ argyfyin’ dan all 
de preachahs dat ebah wuz bawn. 

“‘Well, sah, I jes’ turned ’roun’ an’ went back ter de 
do’, an’ den I didn’ wait er minnit, I jes’ went inside an’ kneeled 
down at de mo’ners’ bench, an’ dar I done prayed an’ rassled 
fo’ grace, an’ fit de ole debb’l till I felt de ole rask’l git 
up ’n git outen masoul jes’ like er ’coon er scootin’ outen de 
cawn fiel’ when de dawgs done chase ’im. An’ den de sperrit 
er de Lawd ’n de pur’fication ob de Holy Ghost done clime 
inter ma haht, an’ I knowed dat I wuz free fum ole Marse Satan, 
an’ all ma sins an’ ’gressions wuz wash’t erway in de blood er 
de Lam’. Fo’ Gawd, marster! I wuz jes’ as light ’n free ez 
er goose’s feddah flyin’ in de win’! 

“‘An’ den dey done got thoo prayin’ an’ rasslin’, an’ 
went ter singin’ agin. I done jined in de singin’ an’ we all 
made er gre’t big noise, but thoo it all I cud heah de sweet 
voice er de whipperwill, singin’ er glad song er praise ter de 
Lawd. 

“‘Arter de meetin’ bruk up, I went home all ’lone by 
masef, an’ all de way I could heah dat bressed bird callin’ ter 
me jes’ like he’d won er gre’t fight. Deed’n he had, Marse 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


349 


Doctah, an' when I g-ot home I done tole ma sweet Elsa all 
’bout dat bird an’ de help dat he g-ib me, when I wuz er tot- 
terin’ on de brink er hell ’n jes’ ’bout ter fall inter de arms ob 



ole Satan. I didn’ 
make no bones 
’bout tellin’ her 
howiwuz tem’ted 
by de debb’l, an’ I 
knows dat she 
wuz proudah ob 
me dan ebah befo’, 
jes’ on ’count er 
dat tem’tation. 

“ ‘While I wuz 
er tellin’ her ’bout 
ma’ sperience, she 
wuz rockin’ ouah 
deah little Aby ter 
sleep an’ hummin’ 
er lull’by dat de 
baby use ter lub. 

’Fear’d like dar 
wuz teahs in her 
voice, an’I’m’mos’ 
sho’ I seed two draps, jes’ like di’mons, tricklin’ down her 


I SEED ER LITTLE HOUSE I USE TER KNOW. 


cheeks. 


350 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ Alter Aby done g'one ter sleep, Elsa put him in his 
little crib, an’ said ter me— “Abr’ham, come ter de windah 
wid me.” 

“ ‘ De moon wuz er shinin’, an’ de stahs wuz all sparklin’ 
like dew draps alter de rain. Thoo de windah I could see 
de lig-hts er de boats on de ribbah, an’ smell de sweet summah 
breeze wid its ’fume ob mag-nolias ’n roses dat wuz den in full 
bloom. 

“ ‘ Ebery ting* wuz still at fust, but all ob er sudd’n er 
sweet voice ’way off at de aig’e ob de wood done come ter ouah 
yeahs like music fum de sky! 

‘“Hark!” said Elsa. 

‘“Whip’will! whipper-will ! whip-per-will ! whip-per- 
will-1-1!” 

‘ “Abr’ham, dar’s ouah g’ood ang-el. 

‘“De time may come, Abr’ham, when yo’ faithful Elsa 
will be fah erway, whar she kin nebbah speak ter her ole man 
no mo’. Should dat time ebah come, I want yo’ ter ’membah 
dis bressed nig-ht, an’ whenebbah yo’ doan’ know jes’ whut 
ter do, jes’ list’n ter dat sweet singah, an’ yo’ll heah de voice 
ob yo’ lost Elsa speakin’ thoo dem cl’ar notes outen de sky. 
An’ when de time comes, Abr’ham, ’membah dat I wants ter 
sleep down dar, whar I kin heah de rush in’ er de ole ’Sippy 
ribbah, an’ de voice ob de whipperwill fo’ebbah. An’ if ma 
baby’s spar’d to yo’, Abr’ham, tell ’im all erbout de whipper- 
will, so dat he kin heah his po’ lost mammy sing-in’ her 
lull’by song- to him ebery nig-ht, ’till he comes to jine her in 
de New Jerus’lem.” 

“ ‘ Marse Doctah, I didn’ know den, how ’phetic ma Elsa’s 
words wuz, but I didn’ sing- ouah ebenin’ hymn wuf shucks 
dat nig-ht, cayse ma voice wuz ’mos’ drownded out widteahs.’ 

“ Poor Abe ! He was g’iving- a very graphic illustration 
of the ‘ drownded ’ voice just then, and to tell you the truth, 
my boy, I was in need of a life preserver for my own voice 
about that time. But the old man gathered himself together 
and proceeded to finish his story: 

“ ‘ Yo’ muss’n mine de ole man,sah, he ain’ quite so brave 
ez he use ter wuz. Yo’ see, Marse Doctah, de ole sojer’s 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


351 


pooty nig-h de eend er his light ag’in de world, an’ his 
am’nishun an’ pluck is bofe ’bout runned out.’ 

“ I could barely trust my voice to reassure and encourag'e 
the old man, but succeeded in bracing- him up a little and he 
continued — 

“ ‘ ’Twuzn’t mo’n fo’ monfs arter dat, fo’ de ole Yallah 
Jack done struck ouah little town, an’ mos’ de fust mo’ners 
wuz Elsa ’n me. Dat debb’lish febah’s hard ’nulf on g-rowed 
up folks, but when it ketch holt ob er pick’ninny, he’s done 
gone sho.’ Po’ little Aby didn’ las’ long sah, an’ when we laid 
him ter rest in dat little grabe undah de trees, ouah hahts 
wuz buried wid him. 

“ ‘I ’lowed I couldn’t stan’ no mo’, sah, but de wust wuz 
still ter come. Ma po’ Elsa jes’ pined erway ’n died, in less’n 
er monf, atter de baby died. Dar wuz er kine ole doctah 
down dar, whut sed dat Elsa bed quick ’sumption, an’ dat she 
must er bin sick fo’ er long time befo’, but I knowed bettah 
sah — Elsa died cayse her haht wuz buried down dar undah 
de cypress. I could lib widout er haht, but ma po’ yallah 
rose-bud couldn’t. 

“ ‘An’ so ma po’ wife hed her wish, an’ when Ole Gabe 
done blow his hawn on de jedgment day, ma dahlin Elsa ’n 
little Aby ’ll see de ole ’Sippy ribbah jes’ ez soon ez dey rises 
fum outen dere beds. An’, when de ebenin’ shadders fall, de 
sweet voice er de whipperwill is gwine call me back ter 
ma lubbed ones. An’ I hopes, Marse Doctah, dat I may be 
neah ’nuff so dat dese ole yeahs dat’s gittin’ so kine er num’, 
’ll not miss de call.’ 

“ Dear old Abe, I know those poor, dull ears will hear the 
first call of the trumpet on the day of judgement — if judge- 
ment day and trumpet there be. Of such stuff should angels 
be made, and I am sure that the superintendent of the 
machinery that turns them out, will not notice the color of the 
raw material.— 

“ What became of him? 

“ Well, it’s not a long story. He died some twelve years 
since — died as he had lived, trying to do his duty according 
to his lights. 

“ The old man had been growing quite feeble for some 


352 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


time — indeed, his failing- health became so noticeable, that I 
several times ventured to suggest g-etting- someone to help 
him at his chores. The old man resented this most vigor- 
ously, saying when I mentioned the subject one day — ‘Marse 
Doctah, whuffo’ yo’ done speakin’ ter de ole man like dat? 
D’ yo’ s’pose he ain’ got no feelins ’tall? No sah, dar ain’ no 
sassy young buck niggah cornin’ ’roun’ hyah sah, an’ yo’ 
knows I kain’ stan’ no white trash nohow! Ef yo’ gits enny 
er dem ’roun’ hyah, de ole man done hit ’em wid de hoe, sah, 
sho’s yo’ bawn! Whut yo’ spec dem chiilun ud do widout ole 
Abe ter take keer ob ’em, sah?’ 

“I never mentioned the subject again. — 

“Abe finally became so ill, that I was compelled to per- 
emtorily order him to keep his bed. He made a brave effort 
to pull through, but he was called, and it was not long before 
he realized it himself. He said nothing, how'ever, but was 
constantly calling for the children to come and visit him. He 
could not content himself when they were out of his sight. 
Of course, we humored the old man as much as possible. 
We were all very fond of him— indeed, w^e felt that one of the 
pillars of the household was passing away from us. 

“ My eldest daughter — who was always ‘little missy ’ to 
him, and of whom he was especially fond — cared for the old 
man most tenderly. Day after day, she read to him from the 
bible or sang simple little Sunday school hymns for him. 
When she would ask him what he wanted her to sing or read, 
he would smile as only a simple-minded darkey can, and say: 
‘Read an’ sing sumpen ’bout de New Jerus’lem, little missy. 

“One day the old man was taken with a sudden attack of 
syncope, and I was hurriedly sent for. I succeeded in re- 
viving him somewhat, but it was only too evident that ‘ Old 
Abe ’ was already hailing the grim ferryman who was to take 
him ‘ ’cross the ribbah.’ 

“I had just given the old man a hypodermic of digitalis 
and brandy, when he opened his eyes, and looking up at me 
with the old smile, said — ‘ I’s bery much ’bleeged, sah, 
’deed’n I is, but ’tain no use— ’deed’n ’taint. Yo’s mos’ de 
greates’ fersishun dat ebbah libbed — ’cep’n’ jes’ one, sah, 
but de whipperwill’s callin’, an’ ma P31sa an’ little Aby is 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


353 


waitin’ fo’ de ole man. I’s gwine ter sleep now, sah, I’s 
jes’ plum tiahed out. An’ doan’ fo’g-it, marster, ’bout ma 
yeahs gittin’ num’, so I mus’ be neah when de whipper- 
will calls.’ 

“And then the old man fell asleep. — 

“Such was the passing of ‘Old Abe.’ If the old man’s 
creed was right, he is still a musical critic in a land where all 
sounds are sweet. 

“ When he wakes from his long sleep, he will indeed be 
‘neah’ — so near that even his ‘num” ears will hear the song 
‘ob de whipperwill.’ I buried the old man in the sunny 
southland, beside his wife and child. When the summons 
comes, Abe, the ‘yallah rose ’ and the ‘brack pick’ninny’ will 
all rise together. 

“Bless my soul, boy, you’ve been taking cold, too, I see! 

“I? Well, my glasses do seem a little ‘sweaty,’ don’t 
they? I guess some of the rose water in this blessed hookah 
must get into the smoke occasionally, eh ? 

“Wrap yourself up well, my boy; it’s bitter cold out. 

“Ah ! How beautiful the stars are ! 

“Well, good night, my boy, good night, and don’t forget 
that I shall expect you again soon.” 



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POKER JIM— GENTLEMAN, 


I. 



AY, stranger, will ye hev 
er smoke? 

No ? Why, whut on airth 
ails ye, air ye sick ? 

IVe heerd folks say no, 
jes’ ter joke. 

But theyVe most allers 
weakened party quick. 

Jes* try er pull et my ole 
clay — 

It aint no meerschaum, 
thet s er lack, 

But when ye wants er 
smoke — I say 

Thar's nuthin* like it, tho* 
*tiz, ole an* black. 



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PLUCKING A PIGEON 





POKER JIM— GENTLEMAN, 



5 doctor had been called 'away 
during- the afternoon, and had 
not yet returned. His wife, 
however, said that she had re- 
ceived a telephone message 
from him a short time before 
my arrival, informing her that 
he would soon be home. The 
doctor was kind enough to add, 
that in case I called, I was to be 
asked to wait for him. 

“A night off” is by no means 
common in the life of a medical student, and when one’s plans 
for spending it pleasantly are disturbed, an impromptu re- 
arrangement of the evening’s programme is both difficult and 
disagreeable, so I gladly accepted the doctor’s kind invitation, 
and awaited his home-coming as patiently as possible. 

The doctor’s library was a most interesting and com- 
fortable place, especially for one of my studious proclivities, 
and the man who could not find recreation and enjoyment 
within its sacred walls, must be dense and unappreciative 
indeed. 

On this occasion, however, I was not feeling in my usual 
vein of exuberant spirits, and my waiting was barely endur- 
able, despite my pleasant surroundings. 

I had been unfortunate enough to quarrel with my room- 
mate — an old friend and boyhood playmate, hailing from the 
same town as myself. As is usually the case, the cause of 
the misunderstanding was of trifling importance and might 


360 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


have been passed over without the slig’htest trouble, had not 
both my friend and myself been unreasonable and stubborn. 

I had a dim consciousness that I was in the wrong-, yet 
my friend had appeared to assume such an arrog-ant air of 
superiority that it would have required more than human 
endurance to tolerate it — at least, so I thought at the time. 

As I sat waiting for the doctor, I finally consoled myself 
with the reflection that I at least had a pleasant evening before 
me — one which was likely to dispel the disagreeable recol- 
lections of the day. 

When the doctor finally arrived, it was at once evident 
to me that my trials and tribulations were of little moment 
compared with those of a busy practitioner, especially in 
disagreeable weather. 

There had been quite a heavy snowstorm during the 
afternoon, and toward evening, a biting, drifting wind had 
come up, turning the storm into a fine, icy sleet, that stung 
one’s skin sharply, like needles and pins. From the doctor’s 
appearance, one might have supposed that the storm had con- 
centrated its fury upon him. His nose and ears were purple- 
red, bordered with an almost-frozen, frost-bitten white, that 
fairly made a fellow’s own nose and ears tingle to look at 
them. His great coat was covered with a mail-like layer of 
sleet, that cracked and crinkled at every movement he 
made. His moustache was stiff and hard with frost, and his 
long luxuriant beard looked like a mass of stalactites, so 
heavy was it with icicles. Taken all in all. Doctor Weymouth 
was, just then, far more picturesque than comfortable in 
appearance. 


“Well, my boy, I am a little storm-beaten, but you see I 
am on hand as usual. I have had more annoyances than com- 
mon to-day. The streets are in an awful condition, and my 
horse has managed to keep his feet only about half the time. 
It is remarkable that I have been able to pull through the 
day without serious accident. As a matter of fact, I did have 
a mishap on the way home. My horse fell down, and in fall- 
ing broke a trace. I succeeded in repairing it, temporarily, 
with my pocket knife and a bit of string, so that I was ena- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


361 


bled to ^et home without further trouble. You see, young- 
man, a doctor in g-eneral practice needs to be something of a 
j ack-of-all-t r ad e s. 

“But I have not allowed either storm or accident to dis- 
turb my temper to-day — I have been good-natured ever since 
I made my first call this morning. 

“One of my pet children, a dear little girl, seven years of 
age, has been very ill with broncho-pneumonia for a week. 
The disease followed an attack of measles, and bade fair to 
destroy the child’s life. Indeed, when I made my evening 
call yesterday, I informed the child’s mother that I had but 
little hope of her recovery. The little one had at that time a 
very high temperature, was delirious, and plainly showed 
those effects of defective aeration of the blood that are so 
frequently seen in such cases, and which bear so pertinently 
upon the question of recovery. 

“Although the case seemed so hopeless, I resolved to 
make a desperate attempt to save the little one’s life, and 
ordered the cold wet pack, with liberal quantities of stimu- 
lants. So fearful were the child’s parents of the possible 
evil effects of the cold wet sheet, that I am certain I would 
have had no opportunity of using it with their consent, had 
not the little girl’s death been apparently a foregone conclu- 
sion. 

“What was my delight, therefore, on calling this morn- 
ing, to find the sweet child practically out of danger and in a 
fair way to recover. ^ 

“I assure you, my young friend, the practice of medicine 
has some rewards that are neither earthly gold nor promise 
of paradise, but better than either. The consciousness that 
the world owes a valuable and beloved life to the art of medi- 
cine, as practiced by one’s self, is a reward that makes our 
profession well worth the following. Occasionally you may 
be able to add to your sum total of rewards, the gratitude of 
those to whom you have saved a loved one, but this is excep- 
tional — the obligation of the average man or woman is can- 
celled, in their estimation and in that of society, with the pay- 
ment of the bill — when it is paid. Should the bill not be paid, 
the honor of the family’s patronage is more than sufficient 


362 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


compensation in the eyes of some good people, even though 
your grocer will not accept it in payment for groceries, and 
your butcher regards it with distrust. 

“The gratitude and affection of that dear little girl, and 
the mere consciousness of a duty well done, can be relied 
upon, however — there could be no fairer reward for one who 
loves his profession. Other compensation, in such cases, is 
less than a secondary consideration. 

“But I must get something to sustain the inner man, or 
you will not find me very entertaining this evening. I can- 
not talk comfortably or intelligently on an empty stomach. 
You will doubtless find something in the library to amuse 
you until I have finished my supper.” 

“Do you know, my boy, I fancied you looked a little glum, 
when I came in this evening? What is troubling you? — 

“Is that all? Well, sir, you mustn’t allow such trifles to 
worry you. I doubt not that your friend is feeling quite as 
much disturbed as yourself, and I am sure that both of you 
now realize that your trifling difference of opinion was not 
worth quarreling about. 

“ From what I have heard you say of your young friend, 
I am led to believe him to be a worthy fellow, and as he is an 
old neighbor and schoolmate of yours, his friendship is prob- 
ably too valuable to lose over a petty altercation. 

“Such matters are easily remedied. Mutual explana- 
tions ||,re best, but sometimes dangerous. They require 
much tact, lest the quarrel be renewed, for each party to the 
misunderstanding is likely to feel that the burden of explana- 
tion or apology should rest upon the shoulders of the other. 
Possibly, therefore, it might be best for you two worthy 
young gentlemen, to say nothing, but conduct yourselves 
toward each other as though not even a ripple had ever dis- 
turbed the placid waters of your friendship. 

“Youthful friendships are too precious to be broken 
through slight misunderstandings ; they are always pleasant, 
because as unselfish as they are numerous. 

“Dumas’ hero, the Chevalier D’Artagnan, some years 
after those stirring adventures which are recounted in that 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


363 


wonderful story, ‘‘The Three Musketeers,” replied to the 
question of Cardinal Mazarin as to the whereabouts of his 
three old-time friends — ‘Friends? — What friends? At 
twenty, sir, every-one is one’s friend!’ 

“ There was much of philosophy in this somewhat cynical 
remark. Let the thinking- man of forty, look back and around 
him, and ask, ‘ Where are my friends?’ He will not require 
much mathematical skill to enable him to count them. 

“Youth, suifuses friendship with its own rosy g-low; 
youth, is tender and unselfish; youth, knows naught of 
duplicity and double dealing; youth, has never fought its way 
up the ladder of fame and fortune, every round of which 
holds a ‘friend’ — who will not share it with the new-comer 
save at the price of a few drops of his heart’s blood; youth, 
has never felt the touch of the commercial steel, wielded by a 
‘friend;’ youth, in its generous rivalries, has not tasted the 
bitter fruit of disappointment in love or worldly fortune at 
the hands of — its ‘friends.’ 

“My boy, the smoke of the hookah brings visions to me 
to-night, that are not so’ fair as those which youth’s cigar 
erstwhile painted upon the boundless horizon of hope. Why 
did Nature permit us to have memories? At my time of life, 
does not memory bring to the average man more pain than 
pleasure? However beautiful the fancies that memory’s 
faithful brush may paint upon the roseate skies of our 
dreams, they still belong to that bitter entity — the past. 
The most phantasmagoric dream of future bliss is sweeter 
far than all the happiness that memories of the past can 
show. ‘ The mill will never grind with the water that has 
passed;’ the soul may not revel in joys that are gone — its 
goal of happiness, its ideal of bliss, lies in that shadowy land, 
the future. 

“Fools live in the present; the old, in their dotage, live 
in the past; while to the wise, the future alone makes life 
worth the living. 

“Someone has written some charming, though unique, 
little verses that are very expressive of at least a few of the 
thoughts I have so inadequately expressed. I fancy I can 
see the man who wrote them, whoever he may be, as the 


364 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


inspiration came to him over his cig'ar that was half dead 
ash and half ag'low. — 

‘ When I was young" and iny hair was thick 
And purse was thin, I used to smoke 
Cig’ars that now would make me sick — 

Yet from their fumes I would evoke 
Such visions as I never see, 

Now I am old. 

Within each rank cheroot rolled tig"ht, 

A world of dreams there seemed to be — 

I conquered new fields every night; 

One such cigar would conquer me. 

Now I am old. 

Some of those dreams I can’t forget, 

And some came true; I’ve wealth, and fame, 

And one — ’twas but a dream, and yet — 

I’m shaking still, and much the same. 

Now I am old. 

I recollect that those cigars 

That brought that faithless dream to me, 

Turned bitterest ashes, well — let be. 

Let ashes cover up old scars. 

Now I am old. 

Ah me! — I’m fifty odd. 

My hair is thin, my purse is stout — and so am I; 

I take not half the comfort in 
The best “ perfectos ” one can buy, 

And visions I no longer see. 

While smoke — ’tis only smoke to me. 

Now I am old. ’ 

“ Yes, my boy, there is an abundance of sentiment in that 
little bit of rhyme — and there’s still more of philosophy in 
those few lines, pessimistic though they are. 

“It is only as one approaches middle life, that he begins 
to realize that the joys of true friendship are a part of the 
halcyon days of youth; they belong not to that later life in 
which fair dreams of the future are replaced by bitter recol- 
lections of the past — bitter because they are of the past, if 
'for no other reason. We speak of the friends of our later 
years, and our hearts grow kinder, but the fairy Youth no 
longer illumines the soul with the kindly light of unselfish 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


365 


affection and rosy hope. Life is no long'er a brig'htly gflow- 
ing- promise; it is a fixed, prosy and all too realistic fact, a 
humdrum buzzing of the wheel of existence, grinding such 
little sentiment as may be left, out of our bosoms, and event- 
ually reducing even our corporeal selves, into the universal 
dust. 

“The friendship of youth seems far different from that of 
our later life — the friends of the olden time may now perhaps 
appear unreal. The friend of our youth is but a fnasque in 
the early hours of our carnival of sentiment. Time goes on, 
the hour of unmasking arrives, and we see behind the mask, 
a face in which the mighty struggle of existence has left lines 
of care and sorrow, and furrows of selfishness. The eyes 
no longer gleam with the frank and open ingenuousness of 
youthful affection — the crystal-like soul that once animated 
them is fled, and we now find ourselves looking into a well, of 
unknown depth, poisoned by the cupidity of commercial 
strife or the mercilessness of selfish ambition and greed for 
fame. Looking back, we think of the days before the mask 
came off — and we think of them with bitter regret. 

“Old friends, the friends of youth — a health to thee! 
Of all that devoted band who once gathered about the stand- 
ard of my own unselfish, unreserved affection, there remain 
but few. How long before they too, will be but a sad, and per- 
haps bitter, memory of the days when the world was new and 
honest — in outward seeming,at least. 

“Frank, my boy, hold to the old friendships as long as 
you may — they will drift away all too fast. New friends will 
never quite fill the places of the old. Old friends were at 
least unselfish, once — however much they may have changed 
under the scorching sun of life’s meridian^ 

“New friends, developed under the glare of life’s noon- 
day sun, come to us already tinctured with the gall and worm- 
wood of life. 

“Heigho! I fear that I am, after all, something of a pessi- 
mist. But the man who begins his career with the most ex- 
alted estimate and appreciation of friendship and all it im- 
plies, is the one who is most likely to become pessimistic with 
the lapse of time. 


366 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ The author of these beautiful lines had evidently some- 
thing* of my sentiment with none of my pessimism.— 

‘ Make new friends, but keep the old ; 

Those are silver, these are g*old. 

New-made friendships, like new wine, 

Ag-e must mellow and refine. 

Friendships that have stood the test 
Of time and change, are surely best. 

Brow may wrinkle, hair turn gray. 

Friendship never knows decay. 

For ’mid old friends, tried and true, 

Once more we may our youth renew. 

But old friends, alas ! may die — 

New friends must then their place supply. 

Cherish friendship in your breast. 

New is good, but old is best ; 

Make new friends, but keep the old. 

Those are silver, these are gold. ’ 

“But, my boy, my sentimental, sometimes pessimistic 
reflections, are hardly suitable for the entertainment of a 
young* man whose ocular media are still tinted rose-color, 
besides, I am supposed to be enacting* the role of a story-teller. 

“As I have already thoug*ht of a subject, I may as well 
beg*in without further preliminaries.” 

“It was in the spring* of 1860, that the faculty of the 
University of Pennsylvania concluded to confer the degree of 
Doctor of Medicine upon your humble servant. Whether that 
now famous school graduated me on the same principle that 
actuated the performers in a western band, who implored 
their audiences not to shoot them, as they were doing the 
best they could, I cannot say, but graduate me it did, and, 
as with all other students of medicine, it was then my 
troubles began. 

“ My parents were at that time living in Kentucky, in a 
small town that offered no inducements to a young man be- 
ginning practice. The confidence of one’s old neighbors is 
of even slower growth than that beard for which the young 
doctor yearns, as a badge of wisdom and learning that he 
who runs may read. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


367 


“The country in which I had spent my boyhood — I was 
born in the state of Maine — was even less inviting- than the 
state of my adoption. It is possible that I entertained a little 
of my mother’s prejudice ag-ainst Yankeedom in those days. 
She was a native of Kentucky, and had never become 
thoroug-hly reconciled to the country to which my father had 
taken her soon after her marriag-e. 

“It was in acquiescence to her homesick pleading-s that 
my father finally moved to Kentucky, and settled in the little 
town wherein my parents spent the rest of their days in 
such happiness and comfort as persons of modest means can 
secure only among the warm-hearted, generous people south 
of Mason and Dixon’s line. 

“Had my home surroundings offered any inducements 
to the professional career I had planned for myself, I should 
certainly have returned home to practice. It was with some 
twinges of conscience, that I finally decided against going 
back to Kentucky to locate — my parents were living alone, 
and my natural and conscientious impulse was to return home 
and do the best I could at practice, as long as they should live. 

“ There were but three of us children, a brother, younger 
than myself, and a sister, two years older. My sister had 
married a gentleman from Memphis, and had long since gone 
to that city to live. My young brother had left home some 
years before I graduated, and no one knew what had become 
of him, much to my regret and to the great sorrow of his 
parents, whose favorite, I must admit, the boy had ever been. 

“Jim had always been a wild lad, and was stamped as an 
incorrigible, almost as soon as he could toddle alone — it was 
said that a little of the old strain of Indian blood, with which 
tradition had endowed our family, had cropped out in him. 
He was one of those rollicking, handsome dare-devils that 
everybody fears and loves at the same moment. The very 
sight of Jim’s black curly head and mischievous eyes, struck 
the good neighbors with terror. Trouble was expected 
from the moment that boy put in an appearance — and the 
good folks were seldom disappointed. Sometimes they would 
acknowledge that ‘it might have been worse,’ but such occa- 
sions were very rare. 


368 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ But all who knew the curly-headed little rascal, admitted 
that he possessed two excellent qualities; he was as brave as 
a lion and kind-hearted to a fault. He was prepared to fig-ht 
‘ at the drop of the hat,’ 
and no boy ever heard 
him cry quits. He was 
as ready to split a cord 
of wood fora poor wid- 
ow, as he was to tie a tin 
can to her house-dog’s 
tail, and that’s saying a 
great deal, I assure you. 



“JIM HAD ALWAYS BEEN A WILD LAD.” 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


369 


“As James grew toward manhood, he fell in with evil 
associates, and as is always the case with boys of his peculiar 
disposition, he became thoroug-hly demoralized. Cards, 
whisky, horses and women — these were the unsubstantial 
foundation upon which rested the new world that his vicious 
companions opened up to him. 

“While living- at the old home in Kentucky, I had always 
had a g-reat controlling- influence over ‘little Jim,” as we used 
to affectionately call him, and even after I left home for col- 
leg-e, I maintained a certain deg-ree of influence over him. 
Gradually however, our correspondence became infrequent, 
until we heard from each other only at very long- intervals. 

“Knowing- how much I thoug-ht of the lad, my parents 
never alluded to Jim’s discrepancies in their letters to me. I 
have sometimes thought that possibly they were actuated to 
a certain extent by a feeling of false pride; they did not care 
to expose the failings of their idol to his natiiml rival in their 
affections — his brother. , 

“Whatever the explanation of the reticence of my parents 
may have been, the fact remains that I had no intimation of 
the true state of affairs until after the poor boy had fled from 
home, never to return. 

“It was the old story: A woman, a rival, a quarrel — pur- 
porting to be the outcome of a game of cards — the lie, a shot, 
and my, young brother a fugitive! What a monotonous same- 
ness there is in all such stories, to be sure! No one has 
invented a single new character or a single new situation in 
the play of passion, through all the ages. What new phases 
have the romancists of the world added to human hopes, fears, 
sentiments, passions and vices in all the centuries? None! 
And yet the world demands originality of its authors! Why, 
lad, when the sensation-loving, pruriency-pandering element 
in society has once become satiated, the novelist and dram- 
atist— Othello-like— will find their occupations gone. 

“You may readily perceive that I was between two fires, 
in deciding on my course after graduation — a sense of filial 
duty to my sorrowing and lonely parents, and a new-born 
professional ambition. 


370 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“As is usually the case, ambition conquered, and I 
decided to seek my fortune in new fields, far away from the 
paternal roof. 

“ I confess that I was influenced somewhat in my decision 
by an instinctive aversion to meeting- my old friends and 
neighbors — in whose minds the story of my brother’s down- 
fall was still fresh. I also had the feeling that I ought to 
manifest my independence of spirit by seeking fame and 
wealth among strangers in a far-away land, from which I 
might return at no distant day, to pour my well-earned 
riches and honors into the laps of my beloved parents. Alas! 
with the exuberance of youth, I forgot how great are the 
ravages of time and disease among the old. The probability 
of my parents dying before my plans should culminate, never 
entered my mind. Like most young doctors, I was more 
scientific than common-sensible or philosophical. 

“ California was, at that time, by no means a new sensa- 
tion, but the novelty of the goljd craze had not yet worn off. 
I had no particular ambition to seek my fortune in foreign 
lands, and as the Pacific coast was to ambitious Americans, 
still the El Dorado of all youthful dreams, I very naturally 
turned my thoughts in that direction. I was not long in 
deciding the matter, and after an interchange of letters 
with my parents, made my arrangements to depart for San 
Francisco. 

“As my means were quite limited, I felt that I could ill 
afford to gratify the inclination to visit my home before leav- 
ing for the west, and, to tell the truth, I was a little afraid 
that my parents’ oral powers of persuasion might prove more 
.powerful than their written entreaties, and induce me to alter 
my plans. I have always regretted that I did not follow the 
impulses of my heart, rather than my ambition, and return 
home for a farewell visit — my parents died within three 
months after my departure for California. Ah ! what sadder 
trick of unkind memory, than vain regret? 

“The choice of routes to California, was a very easv 
matter, for one who was within easy access of the Atlantic 
seaboard. There was no railroad communication with the 
Pacific coast, hence I was compelled to select from the sev- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


371 


eral ocean routes, that which promised to consume the least 
time. With this idea in mind I embarked at New York City, 
on a steamer of the Panama line. 

“ Looking- back at my early voyag-e to California, I often 
wonder why the ocean route is not more popular with tour- 
ists, even in these days of rapid transit. The trip from New 
York to San Francisco via the Isthmus of Panama, is really 
one of the most enjoyable and healthful experiences imagin- 
able. I believe that certain classes of invalids would find the 
trip as beneficial as it is delightful. 

My voyage was of course a novelty to me, and attended 
with many features of interest to one, who, like myself, had 
never been on the salt water before, but my observations en 
route have no bearing upon my story, hence I will not under- 
take their recital. One sad incident that occurred, however, 
impressed me very vividly: 

“Among my fellow passengers, was a poor fellow hailing 
from some little Connecticut town, who had started for the 
gold fields to seek his fortune, as had many other modern 
Jasons, in pursuit of the Golden Fleece. Shortly after his 
arrival in New York, he was taken with typhoid fever and 
became so ill that his life was despaired of. He finally, how- 
ever, became apparently convalescent, and, weak as he was, 
insisted on starting for San Francisco at once. His little 
savings were almost exhausted, and the poor boy felt that he 
must continue his journey while he still had means. 

“The physician in charge of the young man, at first 
advised against his departure, but finally yielded his point, 
in the vague hope that the voyage itself might prove bene- 
ficial and hasten his patient’s recovery. It is hardly necessary 
to say that that physician had probably never taken a trip in 
the steerage of an ocean steamer. Such a voyage is rather 
trying to the nerves of a healthy man, and to a supposed con- 
valescent from typhoid fever, it is certainly not to be recom- 
mended — the advantages of the ocean breezes are decidedly 
off-set by the inconveniences, privations and bad air of the 
steerage. 

“ It seemed that the young man’s convalescence was only 
apparent, for he had a relapse within three days after leaving 


372 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


port, and. ag'ain became very ill. It was soon evident that the 
poor fellow was in very bad straits. 

“The ship’s surgeon, Doctor Maxon, was a young man 
whose inexperience was only equalled by his kindness of 
heart. He was working his own passage it seems, and so far 
as the particular sick passenger under consideration was 
concerned, the doctor did the best he could to earn his salary. 

“ Learning that I was a physician — and like most newly 
fledged doctors, I was not slow in apprising my fellow 
passengers of the fact that I was the proud possessor of a 
medical degree — my young confrere was glad to share the 
responsibility of the sick man’s case with me. 

“As both Doctor Maxon and myself were young in the 
profession, it is hardly necessary to say that our patient did 
not suffer from a lack of enthusiasm on the part of his 
medical attendants. We w^orked over him early and late, and 
it really seemed at one time that we were going to pull our 
patient through. But the ways of intestinal ulceration in 
typhoid fever are past all understanding, and much to our 
sorrow, perforation occurred and our patient died in collapse 
within six hours thereafter. 

“I believe that young doctors are proverbially emotional 
over their first few fatal cases. We were no exception to the 
rule, and I look back with an increased self-respect, and a high 
regard for Doctor Maxon, as I recall the fact that we both 
cried over our first dying patient. 

“Poor boy! he needed somebody’s tears, and ours were 
all he got. Perhaps he was more fortunate than most dying 
men, after all, for our tears were at least genuine — we were 
keenly and truly sorrowful to see him go. How fortunate it 
is that we doctors do not go on expending our nervous force 
in sorrowing emotion over our dying patients. What an 
ocean of tears some fellows would — but I am digressing. 

“The dead man was friendless and penniless; his sur- 
roundings were necessarily selfish, and we had no facilities 
for embalming — even had any inducement in that direction 
been offered. Burial at sea was therefore the only practic- 
able method of disposal of the body. — 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


373 



’ 4 . - 


“A funeral at sea, is one of the most impressive cere- 
monies I have ever witnessed. The vast solitude, the ab- 
sence of all incidents and interests that might divert the 


“the body fell for- 
ward UPON ITS FACE.” 


mind from the affair in hand, the feeling of loneliness which 
comes over one at the thought of the dead body settling down 
to the bottom of the mighty ocean, there to remain forever, 


374 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


far removed from human knowledg*e or sympathy — if per- 
chance it be not torn en route by voracious sharks, those 
wolves of the sea — are impressions that a sensitive mind is 
not likely to forg-et. Like most young men of studious lives 
I was quite sensitive and emotional, and such exceptional 
scenes as a burial at sea are not likely to be easily effaced by 
subsequent experiences of whatever kind. This is an un- 
fortunate attribute of the mind, for not all of our early ex- 
periences are of an agreeable nature. 

“I recall,even now, the solemnity of that interesting and 
memorable event. There being no clergyman aboard, a 
young gentleman passenger volunteered to read the burial 
service. He was a magnificent orator, and, doubtless im- 
pressed with the novelty and solemnity of the occasion, did 
full justice to his subject. Never have I heard anything so 
beautiful as the service over my first deceased patient. 

“As the young man finished reading, the clear tones of 
the ship’s bell rang out — it seemed to me with a deeper and 
more solemn sound than was its wont, as though in sympathy 
with its new and sacred duty — as it tolled the signal to the 
strong-armed waiting sailors, who, with bare and bowed 
heads, stood supporting upon the stern rail of the ship, the 
plank upon which lay the hammock-shrouded corpse. 

“As the last sad note of the bell pealed out over the 
water, the sailors lifted the plank over the rail, elevated it, 
and allowed the body to slide into the sea. 

“ Whoever had been entrusted with shotting the shroud 
at the feet of the corpse, was evidently inexperienced and had 
put in too little weight; as a consequence, when the sailors 
tipped the plank over the rail, the body fell forward upon its 
face, with a resounding, ghastly splash that threw the salt 
spray over those nearest the rail, and sank quite slowly, 
vibrating to and fro in plain sight as it gradually settled into 
the clear, blue water, that was as pellucid as a dead calm and 
a fair, cloudless sky could make it. 

“My boy, there’s no form of burial that is much more 
sensible than that at sea, but I cannot help thinking of that 
poor lad, whose drifting, sodden bones lie at the bottom of the 
blue Mexican gulf, as the ideal of loneliness and friendless- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


375 


ness. But such burials are, after all, quite utilitarian. Do 
you remember what Shakespeare says in his beautiful Tem- 
pest? Ariel, I believe, is made to sing- — 

‘ Full fathom five thy father lies, 

Of his bones are coral made; 

Those are pearls that were his eyes. 

Nothing- of him that doth fade 
But doth suffer a sea change, 

Into something rich and strange. ’ 

“ With favoring winds and the fairest weather, that por- 
tion of my journey which lay beyond the Isthmus of Panama, 
was traversed in what our captain pronounced phenomenal 
time. It seemed to me that he must be right, for the days 
did not drag, I assure you. There are times when one won- 
ders why the Pacific Ocean ever received so fair and gentle a 
name, but during that part of my trip which lay over its 
beautiful waters, I certainly had no reason to quarrel with 
geographical nomenclature, for balmier skies, better weather 
and smoother seas could not be wished for. 

“ Despite the pleasure of the trip, however, it was with a 
thrill of eager expectancy,and that ill-defined hope which ever 
bubbles forth from the well-spring of youthful ambition, that 
I heard the cheery call of ‘Land ho!’ as the outposts of the 
land-locked harbor of San Francisco came in sight.” 

“It is doubtful whether nature ever designed a more 
secure or beautiful harbor than the bay of San Francisco. 
Was it not because of its beauty that its entrance was called 
‘ The Golden Gate?’ It was certainly so named by the early 
adventurers, long before the discovery of that mineral wealth 
which made the entrance to the principal port of the land 
wherein lay the Golden Fleece, a ‘golden gate ’ in fact, as it 
was in name. Was the author of the name inspired? Per- 
haps — who can say? 

“Standing at the entrance of the bay, like two trusty 
sentinels, are the points of land between which storm-tossed 
vessels must pass, to reach the secure haven within. The 
northern one is Point Bonita — the beautiful — readily dis- 


376 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


ting-uisheible by the narrow strip of land running- toward the 
bar which crosses the g-ateway and is, or was, sometimes 
dangerous for vessels of heavy draught passing in or out at 
low tide, when the wind blew strongly from the west, ‘ no lo- 
west ’ or ‘ sou-east.’ 

“ Standing on Point Bonita, like a faithful guardian of the 
sailor’s safety, stood a light-house, that had but one rival, a 
structure of similar character and purpose on one of the 
Farralone Islands, which, on a clear day, was sometimes 
visible to the approaching voyager, long before the inner one 
at Point Bonita came into view. 

“ On the southern point. Point Lobos — ‘ Wolves’ Point ’ — 
stood the telegraph station from which messages were sent 
to the city, announcing the arrival of vessels. 

“ From Points Bonita and Lobos, which are separated by 
a distance of perhaps three miles, the shores of the inlet of 
the harbor gradually converge, until at the narrowest part of 
the channel — the Golden Gate proper — the distance between 
the farthest jutting points is less than two thousand yards. 

“One must see the bay of San Francisco to realize its 
beauties — and to see it at its best, he must sail through the 
Golden Gate. If he has not this opportunity, let him stand 
upon the shore at the entrance, and watch the stately ships, 
as they pass to and fro in their out-going or home-coming. 
One of the most beautiful sights I have ever witnessed was a 
majestic outward-bound East Indian clipper ship crossing 
the bar by moonlight, on her way to the far-away land of tea 
and spice. 

“The harbor of San Francisco as I first saw it in the 
early summer of 1860, was a strange sight. It is probable 
that nowhere else in the world could so many varieties of 
shipping be seen. The flags and bunting of all nations were 
constantly displayed, and all sorts of craft, from the queer 
oriental junk to the palatial steamship of the Pacific mail or 
the royal merchantman of the Indies, could be found going or 
coming, or lying at anchor, at all times. 

“And the additions that each incoming vessel made to 
the population of the city, were as varied as were the craft in 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


377 


which they came. The population of San Francisco was 
probably at that time unequalled for cosmopolitanism. 

“It seemed to me as I 
landed at the wharf and 
looked about me, that I was 
in a new world, a veritable 
wonderland — and I was not 
far from right. 



“ Doctor Maxon and my- 
self were actuated by a similar 
impulse when we landed, which 
was to find quarters to fit our 
slender purses, where we 
might remain for a few days 
while looking over our new 
field of operations and decid- 
Hotels were beyond our reach, 
and I do not know where we would have landed eventually, 
had it not been for the kindness of some of Doctor Maxon’s 


ing as to our future course. 


378 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


sailor friends on board the g-ood ship that had broug-ht us 
to the land of promise. 

“Through the friendly offices of those rough sailor boys, 
we finally found a half-way decent sailor’s boarding house, 
where we succeeded in securing accommodations for which 
we felt able to pay — for a short time at least. 

“Doctor Maxon soon met friends, and through their influ- 
ence, he decided to give up all notions of pursuing his pro- 
fessional vocation — he preferred the enticing prospect of 
digging gold to the slower process of accumulation by hard- 
earned fees. 

“ I never met the doctor again, and much to my regret, I 
learned of his death some time after. He was, unfortunately, 
drowned in the Sacramento river during that general inunda- 
tion of the valley which forms so important a feature of my 
story. Poor Maxon! He was a good fellow and deserved 
better luck. — 

“After my friend’s departure, I was left to solace my 
loneliness as best I might, and like all young men in similar 
situations, I put in my time seeing the sights. My student 
days had been too busy for indulgences of that kind, and as I 
had determined to strike out for the mines, to practice or not, 
as I should afterward see fit, I determined to make the most 
of my opportunity. 

“If there was anything in San Francisco that I did not 
see, I cannot imagine what it might have been. Indeed, every- 
thing was run with such wide-openness that none but a blind 
man could have failed to find entertainment. 

“ The special attraction in the way of diversion afforded 
by San F rancisco in those days, was gambling in its various 
forms. I was not likely to be tempted to gamble, and had 
little but self-respect to lose, even if I should happen to for- 
get my anti-gambling principles, hence I gratified my curi- 
osity to the point of satiation. 

“The San Francisco gambling-house was the common 
ground upon which the flotsam and jetsam of the early cosmo- 
politan population of the city met. The proprietors of the 
gambling hells certainly knew human nature thoroughly, 
judging by the variety of excitement that they provided. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


379 


Every known g-ame, and every variety of liquor distinguished 
for its vital-reaching propensities, was at the disposal of 
their patrons, day and night. The boast of the gambling- 
house keeper was, that he had thrown his front door key 
away the first day his house was opened. 

“When the fever of gambling struck the good citizen or 
the unwary visitor from the mines, he could have his choice 
of a variety of remedies, monte, faro, roulette, poker — any- 
thing he pleased, if he had his ‘ dust ’ with him. 

“And do not imagine dhat the dispensers of the cooling 
g'ames were low-browed, ugly ruffians. Smooth, sleek and 
handsome, were the nimble-fingered gentry who attended to 
the wants of the fever-stricken fools who had more ounces in 
their pockets than in their brain-pans — until the fever was 
cured, when the loss of balance was in the other direction. 
Many a college education was wasted — or utilized, if you 
please — on the dealer’s side of a ‘ sweat-cloth ’ in some of 
those dens. My fine gentleman would not swing a pick — 
unless it were an ivory one with which he could steal away a 
sturdy miner’s golden ounces, much more quickly than the 
hapless fool could dig them with the implements of honest 
toil. 

“But the scene was an alluring one, nevertheless. The 
rattle of chips and dice; the ringing of silver and the clink of 
gold; the thud of the buckskin bags of golden dust as they 
were recklessly thrown upon the table; the duller, yet more 
portentious, shuffling of the cards; the whir of the wheel; 
the call of the polished gentlemen who presided at the tables 
where rouge et noir was being played, were entertaining to 
my ear, untrained as it was to such sounds. 

“ ‘Step up and make your bets, gentlemen! — The game 
is made! Five — eleven — eighteen — twenty — twenty-two — 
twenty-four — twenty-eight — thirty-one. — Red wins, gentle- 
men !’ — and the never-ending procession of excited fools steps 
up to diversion and disaster. 

“ There was one thing the proprietors of those gambling 
houses forgot — they should have had a suicide room and 
undertaking department. It would have saved the city 
fathers a deal of trouble in the disposal of the large crop 


380 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


of unknown remains that the morning- light disclosed in 
obscure corners of the city — poor fugitives from self; victims 
of those dens wherein Venus, Momus, Terpsichore and Bac- 
chus, grovelled in the dirt and yet held undisputed sway. 

‘‘‘There was a grim irony, and yet withal, a tinge of 
comedy, in the farewell treat of fiery liquor with which the 
management bowed out its ruined guests — bowed them out 
of the den of iniquity and into a slough of despond from 
which they often-times never emerged — on this side of 
eternity. 

“ I was standing one evening in ‘ The Palace ’ — a gambling 
den with the usual appurtenances of tributary and dependent 
vice — curiously watching the movements of the dealer at one 
of the numerous faro games. Every table was crowded with 
players and surrounded by spectators, some of whom, like 
myself, were mere curiosity seekers, but most of them being 
devotees of the shrine, who were impatiently awaiting the 
occurrence of a vacancy at the table — when a bankrupt player 
should make way for fatter victims. 

“Sitting just opposite the dealer, was a young lad, who 
could not have been more than seventeen years of age, betting 
away with a recklessness that would have done credit to a 
millionaire. The youngster was evidently flushed with liquor, 
and laboring under the highest degree of excitement. 

“Standing just behind the boy, was a woman — evidently 
one of the demi monde^ who, it was plain to be seen, was influ- 
encing his betting. Whether the creature was giving direct 
advice and encouragement or not, I cannot say, but the lad 
was certainly trying to appear as brave and recklessly extrav- 
agant as possible, for the apparent purpose of impressing the 
woman. A furtive glance which the dealer exchanged with 
his charming ‘capper’ now and then, was sufficient to enable 
even one of my limited experience, to form a correct con- 
clusion as to the status of affairs. 

“Just opposite me and almost directly behind the dealer, 
stood a man, who, I was certain, had been studying my face 
from time to time ever since I had taken my place among the 
spectators of the game. A stealthy glance at my vis a vis 
when he happened to be watching the boy’s playing — which 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


381 


seemed to be dividing- his attention with me — revealed a 
person of most striking- appearance and unique individuality. 

“Apparently about twenty-live years of ag-e, judg-ing- by 
his heavy black moustache and mature development; a tall 
athletic fig-ure; long- curling- locks of jet black hair hang-ing- 
loosely down over his shoulders; eyes as black as sloes and 
as piercing- as those of a hawk — the strang-er was indeed a 
handsome and most picturesque character. Nor were his 
natural attractions lessened by his attire. His closely but- 
toned coat of fashionable cut, small, neat boots, and sur- 
mounting- all, his broad-brimmed hat, made him even more 
striking-, if possible. I g-lanced at his hands and noted that 
they were small, and of a color that indicated both gentility 
and a life in which manual labor bore no part. 

“As I stole a second glance at the handsome stranger, 
our eyes met, and I fancied that he started somewhat sud- 
denly. He glanced away quickly, but as the boy in whom he 
appeared to take such an interest was apparently getting 
pretty near the end of his funds, I concluded that the un- 
known’s emotion — if indeed he had really displayed any — 
was due to the evident bad luck of his unconscious protege. 
It was plain to me that he was interested in the boy, for 
there was an expression about the corners of his mouth, and 
and an almost tender gleam in his eyes, that could not be 
mistaken by anyone who possessed even a fail* ability in 
character reading. 

“I knew not why the picturesque stranger interested 
me, but there seemed to be some indefinable attraction about 
him, that caused me to forget the game and watch him 
as closely as I could without risk of giving offense. As our 
eyes met, I experienced a peculiar sense of mutual recogni- 
tion, and yet it was seemingly impossible, or at least, highly 
improbable, that we had ever met before. 

“But the occurrences of the next few moments entirely 
diverted my mind for the time being, from the question of 
recognition. 

“The poor, foolish boy soon exhausted his money, and 
vacated his place at the unholy altar. I saw him whisper to 
the female, in whose company he evidently was, and appar- 


382 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


ently request her to step aside with him. She did so, and 
they stood for some time in earnest, confidential discussion 
of a subject which their gestures made all too apparent. The 
bird was plucked, his charms were gone, and he was not 
only refused a ‘stake’ wherewith to possibly retrieve his 
losses, but the light of his first romance was extinguished 
forever — or until he had procured more money, which, to the 
woman’s mind, amounted to the same thing. 

“ The expression on that poor boy’s face was a horror and 
a sermon both in one. As the woman coldly and haughtily 
swept away from him, her tainted skirts swishing suggest- 
ively and ominously over the floor, gathering up tobacco and 
other filth which was purity itself beside her harpy-like soul, 
the lad stood gazing after her as if in a dream. He was 
stunned into obliviousness to everything but the realization 
of his disaster. 

“ He stood for a moment as though incapable of motion, 
then, with an expression of desperation in his eyes, and a 
countenance that was the typification of utterly hopeless 
despair, he passed through the green baize doors out into the 
night — his first black night of fathomless woe and absolute 
demoralization. 

“I had watched the boy from the time he left the table, 
and his expression, as the hawk that had plucked away his 
youthful plumage flew away from her victim, at once appealed 
to my young professional eye. I made my diagnosis almost 
intuitively, and instinctively started to follow the lad, as 
quickly as I could without attracting attention. As I turned 
toward the exit, I caught a glimpse of some one just passing 
out. As the doors swung back before him, I recognized the 
stalwart form of the picturesque unknown. 

“I breathed a sigh of relief, and strolled leisurely along 
after the stranger. I do not know why, but I felt that the 
boy was safe. I was sure I could not be mistaken in my 
interpretation of the play of emotions that had animated the 
stranger’s face, as he watched the game which had ruined 
the poor lad whom he was evidently following. 

“I soon saw that I was right. The stranger caught up 
with the boy, just as he stepped into the brilliant glare of 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


383 


lig-ht that illuminated the sidewalk in front of the g-ambling 
den. Placing- one hand upon the boy’s shoulder, heg-ently but 
firmly halted him, I, meanwhile, drawing- back in the shadow 





don’t be frightened, my lad. 



384 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


of the outer door of the Palace, determined, with the best of 
motives, to see the thing- throug-h. 

“ ‘ Don’t be frightened, my lad,’ said the man, ‘ I just want 
to speak to you a moment, that’s all.’ 

“The boy looked at him as though dazed for a moment, 
and then replied slowly — 

“‘I’m not frightened, sir, you’re not apt to do anything 
worse to me than I’ve already done to myself; my money is 
all gone, and you can’t do any more than kill me, if you don’t 
want money. As for killing me — well, I have more lead than 
gold left, and I’ve not forgotten how my father taught me to 
die — like a gentleman. ’ 

“ I fancied the boy looked quite the hero, as he spoke — 
there was a little touch of the southern born, about him that 
brought my home in Kentucky back to me. I had seen such 
boys there, and I knew — well, there was one who was some- 
thing like that, whom I would have given the world to see, and 
my heart went out to that poor unfortunate lad. And yet, for 
some reason, I had an even kinder feeling for the man who 
was evidently going to act the friend and adviser of our 
mutual protege'. 

“ ‘ Pardon me, my boy, for even suggesting that you 
might be frightened,’ said the unknown, ‘ but you are young; 
San Francisco has some queer ways and still queerer people, 
and it’s not every man who gets the drop on you who means 
well. I am free to say that I should be uneasy myself, were I 
to be similarly accosted, and they say that I am — well, that 
I’m “no chicken,” you know. Where are you from, my boy?’ 

“ ‘I’m from Virginia, sir,’ replied the lad, straightening 
up — with a little of the Old Dominion pride, I thought. 

“‘Ah!’ exclaimed his new-found friend, ‘I was sure I 
detected a little of the old cavalier strain in your face. What 
is your name, may I ask?’ 

“ ‘ Gordon Cabell, sir.’ 

“‘Well, Master Cabell, I know your breed pretty well; 
I’m from — well, I have met southern boys before. Now,I’m 
going to talk plainly to you, and you mustn’t be offended. I’m 
going to be your friend, if you will let me — your friend for 
to-night, at least, and you must listen to. me. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


385 


“ ‘ I’m not g'oing- to g'ive you a moral lecture on gambling' 
or liquor drinking— I presume that the Gordons, Cabells, and 
many more of your ancestors, have played cards, drunk 
whisky, raced horses, attended cock fights, and fought duels, 
and have done many other things that some people with colder 
blood object to, but they did all those things like gentlemen. 
I’ll warrant you. Now tell me, young fellow, did you ever 
know of a Cabell doing what you have done, and still worse, 
what you were going to do to-night?’ 

“‘Sir!’ said the boy, indignantly, reaching toward his 
pistol, ‘ I will — ’ 

“ ‘ Oh, no you won’t. Master Cabell ; look me in the eye, 
please ! ’ and the boy gazed at the stranger wonderingly, as he 
drew his tall form up to its full height, calmly folded his arms 
and looked down upon him. 

“ ‘ I have already told you that I am your friend, Gordon, 
and the Cabells do not make targets of their friends. Give 
me your pistol, sir!’ 

“ The boy almost mechanically drew his pistol from the 
holster beneath his loose-fitting coat, and obeying the man- 
date of a will more powerful than his own, handed it to his 
companion. 

“‘Thank you, Gordon,’ said the stranger, ‘I’ll return it 
to you presently.’ 

“ ‘ Now,my boy, let us get to business. You have fallen 
among thieves, and hav^e been plucked, like the unsuspecting, 
foolish pigeon that you are. I don’t want to know your past 
history; life is too short, but I do want to have a hand in your 
future. 

“ ‘ You are the scion of aristocratic stock — your ancest- 
ors before you, were worshippers at the shrine of beauty, but 
it was the beauty of purity and virtue. You have been drag- 
ging your family pride down into the dirt, and offering up 
your young soul upon an altar which a true son of the Old 
Dominion should loathe. You have squandered your money, 
trying to beat a game that’s a ‘dead-open-and-shut’ against 
you. — You are listening to one who knows whereof he speaks, 
I assure you, my boy. 


386 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘Not satisfied with what you had already done, which, 
after all, is easily remedied, you were about to stain your 
family name and record, with a crime that nothing on earth 
could ever wipe out — you were about to kill — a fool, Gordon, 
who may yet be made a wise man. 

“ ‘ I once knew a boy who played the fool — much as you 
have done — and who is still expiating his folly. He might 
eventually have done as you were about to do, only he hap- 
pened to be compelled to — well, he didn’t shoot himself, that’s 
one thing to his credit, although his family and not himself 
was perhaps the gainer by it — or will be sometime, if the 
truth is ever known. He couldn’t avoid the other — there was 
nothing about that, which he had cause to be ashamed of, 
although the world, that knows not the circumstances, thinks 
differently. 

“ ‘Now, Gordon, I’m going to stake you. Don’t say no — 
it is a loan if you please, or anything you choose to call it. 
Take this and get out of this hell-hole of a town as quick as 
the Lord will let you ! ’ 

‘' The boy stood for a moment, with the tears streaming 
down his cheeks, and then hesitatingly took the proffered 
bag of dust. 

“ ‘And will you really let me pay it back to you, sir, when 
I am able ? ’ 

“‘I certainly will,’ replied the generous stranger. ‘As 
I have already told you, my boy, I know your breed, and I 
don’t want you to remain under obligations to one who is an 
entire stranger^ But, after all, your honorable intention 
clears the obligation. 

“ ‘And, Gordon, here’s your pistol. I think you under- 
stand its use a little better than you did a short time ago. 
And now I am going to give you a few parting words of 
advice — 

“ ‘In the first place, young fellow, don’t gamble — if your 
blood is too thick to heed this admonition, learn to play 
poker. It’s a scientific game and a square one — sometimes — 
always so among gentlemen. Never bet against another 
man’s game, nor play against a percentage. Gambling 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


387 


g’ames of that kind are like the play of life, the percentag^e is 
in favor of the dealer, and fetches you sooner or later. 

“‘In the second place, young man, set up a shrine in 
your heart, and worship female purity and virtue; then you 
are safe. If you have a mother or sisters, don’t forget that a 
woman who is not fit for their society is not worthy of your 
young affections. 

“ ‘ Youthful affection, my boy, is not inexhaustible— keep 
it for future reference— and worthy objects. You may yet 
live to wish that the worldly heart of to-morrow were the 
young and fresh one of yesterday. 

“ ‘And now, I must leave you. Good night, my boy, and 
don’t forget what I have said to you.’ 

“ ‘ But sir, your name ! — who shall I — ? ’ 

‘ His benefactor had disappeared in the darkness. 

‘The boy stood for some time, gazing blankly into the 
night in the direction in which the stranger had disappeared; 
then, drawing himself up proudly, as became a son of fair 
Virginia, he placed the bag of gold in his pocket and his 
pistol in its holster, cast a scornful glance toward the windows 
of the Palace, and strode resolutely away. 

“That the lad profited by the stranger’s advice was 
evidenced by his subsequent career. It was my fortune to 
hear from him, many years after, as a rising young lawyer in 
New York City, where he doubtless is to-day, if still living. 
He went to the gold fields a few days after his adventure at 
the gambling hell, and within a few years was lucky enough 
to amass quite a little fortune. With this he returned home, 
and finally studied law. He eventually went to the metropolis, 
as offering the best inducements to his new-found professional 
ambition. He never again saw the quondam friend who suc- 
cored him from the fate of a suicide. I alone, know the 
subsequent history of the handsome stranger. And I, alas! 
never felt that I could — but I must not get ahead of my story: 

“A few days after the events which I have related, I 
chanced to meet an old-time friend of my father, hailing from 
Maine. Mr. Allen, it seemed, had ‘ struck it rich,’ and was 
on his way back to ‘ the States.’ 


388 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ From this gentleman, I received a glowing account of 
the wealth of the placer mining region in Tuolumne county, 
which at once determined my future course. When Mr. 
Allen informed me that the country where he had made his 
‘pile,’ was not only rich in gold, but badly in need of doctors, 
I decided that Tuolumne should have one medical celebrity 
at least. 

“ ‘Investing some of my greatly diminished capital in an 
outfit which I thought might harmonize to a certain extent 
with the new field for which I was about to depart; I bade 
farewell to San Francisco, and set out for the fame and pot 
of gold that lay at the foot of the rainbow of my dreams.” 


“And now, my boy, it is high time you and I were giving 
a practical illustration of the subject of dreams. Having left 
San Francisco, I am sure to be perfectly safe until we meet 
again, when I will take pleasure in continuing our story. 
“Good night, Frank, and good luck to you.” 



POKER JIM— GENTLEMAN. 



IL 


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ELLO I ole boss — ye durned 
ole cuss! Whar ye bin? 
Frisco? Wall, hows thet 
lively town ? 

Got yer pile, eh? I jes' thort ye 
looked like sin ! 

Must hev done ye up good an 
brown ! 

Aint ye glad ter see th' ole brown 
jug an‘ yer cob ? 

Wall, I sh'd kinder think ye*d be. 

S pose ye smoked havanners whilst 
ye played ther nob — 

But ‘baccy s good ernuff fer me.” 











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‘poker JIM WUZ ER GENTLEMAN.” 


f 


POKER JIM— GENTLEMAN, 


II. 



FOUND the doctor sitting- in his library 
arrang-ing- some notes for his next 
morning-’s lecture. As mig-ht be sup- 
posed, he seemed more thoug-htful 
ji Ml than jolly. He had evidently been 
wrestling- with a pretty tough proposi- 
tion, for his hookah, which stood beside 
him with its long, flexible stem care- 
lessly dropped upon the floor, had 
evidently been in operation, and its fire 
allowed to die out for lack of attention 
upon the smoker’s end of the appliance. 
The doctor looked up, however, with his 
accustomed warm, pleasant smile of friendly 
greeting, and after the usual informalities of 
punch and cigars had been concluded, motioned me to my old 
easy chair at the opposite side of the table. 

Doctor Weymouth’s experience as a medical teacher had 
been a long one, and I had often wished to hear him discuss 
that particular phase of his career. Here was my oppor- 
tunitv, and I hastened to embrace it. 


“Do I like medical teaching? Well, my boy, what other 
incentive could there possibly be for me to go before my 
classes several times weekly, and use up what little reserve 
nervous energy I possess, in work that not only does not put 
a dollar in my pocket, but in all probability takes many a 
dollar out of it? 

“You thought it was profitable, eh? 


394 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Well, I suppose your ideas are based entirely upon the 
fact that the averag'e college professor lives well, dresses 
well, and drives a line turnout. Such things do not neces- 
sarily indicate prosperity, and where they do, it by no means 
follows that college influences have had anything to do with 
it. Such outward appearances are the result of a sort of 
blackmail that society levies upon every doctor, and especially 
upon the college professor. 

“Very few colleges indeed, pay even a meagre salary to 
their teachers; none of them pay one tenth part of the value 
of the time, talent and energy necessary to successful teach- 
ing. To be sure, occasional consultation fees drift toward 
the college professor, but where he gains one fee in this 
manner, he loses a dozen that are diverted into other chan- 
nels by physicians whose sympathies are enlisted for some 
rival college, or, what is more logical, who recognize the 
medical school as an enemy to the profession at large — as I 
really believe it to be upon the average, with the present 
methods of conducting free clinics and hospitals. 

“ The clinical teaching in vogue in the majority of medical 
schools and hospitals, is gradually, but surely, sapping the 
vitality and prosperity of the general profession, by ill-ad- 
vised and undeserved charity. The profession has long 
realized this, and there has been a justifiable, and — to medical 
teachers — an unprofitable, undercurrent of resentment on 
the part of medical men. 

“My boy, if you have no special predilection for a teach- 
ing career, keep out of college faculties. The best results in 
the way of practice, are to be obtained by relying absolutely 
upon the good will of the general public. The man who does 
this, and goes quietly about his work, is the man who has 
something to probate when he dies — the college professor 
often leaves nothing but debts behind him. 

“And yet, teaching is fascinating to one who is fond of 
his subject, and, what is more important, who understands 
his students. Your medical student is a thoroughly good 
fellow, when you know how to take him. 

“He has hardships enough to make him morose, work 
enough to drive the average man crazy, temptations enough 


OVKR THE HOOKAH. 


395 


to divert the attention of the most lev^el-headed young* fellow, 
and yet, throug*h it all — as the old song* has it — 

‘ Your student is a jolly man 
And blest with sterling- sense, 

He gets along as best he can, 

Tho’ wanting dimes and cents. 

He never wastes a single tear 
On what he cannot fix, 

And never shows a sign of fear 
At fortune’s scurvy tricks. 

He pegs away at books and pills, 

His life to science lent. 

And only cares to live and learn. 

And pay his weekly rent. 

Oh yes he is a jolly man, 

Tho’ poor as any mouse. 

He laughs as hearty as he can. 

With nothing in the house. 

He never cares for fair-day friends, 

He steers his own canoe; 

He borrows not — he will not lend. 

Unless he must so do. 

You’ll always find him on the tramp 
Along dull wisdom’s path. 

He often burns the midnight lamp 
And daily takes a bath. 

He keeps a lock upon his heart. 

No mistress gay has he. 

Unless it be his books and pills 
And his yearned-for legal fee. ’ 

“I have often thoug*ht that the most popular man with 
students, is the teacher who fraternizes with them upon the 
common g*round of g-ood-fellowship. There is something*, 
too, in being* confidential with them. 

“Another point worthy of attention, is this: The man 
who is most arrog*ant and pedantic in manner, who exhibits 
most of the ‘big* I and little you ’ quality, is almost always a 
failure as a medical teacher. The faculty may retain him, 
but the students bury him in oblivion — as soon as they have 
passed his chair in the examinations. 

“One thing* in which some professors make a mistake, is 
the view that the student is necessarily dishonest. The 


3% 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


medical student is, in my opinion, pretty high in the scale of 
square-dealing and honesty. He is human, of course, but I 
believe that a system of espionage often makes a dishonest 
student out of a square one. 



“HE OFTEN BURNS THE MIDNIGHT LAMP.’’ 


“ There’s little use in watching a slippery fellow anyway 
—his shrewdness is equal to his meanness, and he is hard to 
catch in his various iniquities. But his dishonesty is its own 
reward. He rides through the portals of the college out into 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


397 


the world on his smart little ‘ pony ’ and, for a while, cuts a 
very pretty fig-ure. But, as Lincoln said, ‘ You can fool some 
of the people all the time and all the people some of the time,’ 
but by all the gods I ‘you can’t fool all the people all of the time.’ 

“ Our medical tin soldier finds this out in due time. His 
Rosinante is, after all, spavined, wind-broken, and has the 
string'-halt and blind-staggers. When his crippled pony 
falls, the pretender goes deep down into the mud of forget- 
fulness and — there he sticks. Even the boy who ambled out 
of school on a mule, rides triumphantly by him — the mule 
was slow, but honest and well nourished — there’s the differ- 
ence. 

“Aside from the fact that honesty is in the long run most 
profitable to the student, there is a sublime satisfaction in 
the sense of having g-otten the best out of one’s self. Hard, 
honest work always counts, even though the plodder may 
not always g'et his name upon the roll of honor of his college. 

“Observing the hard work of the industrious scholar 
throughout his after-life, however, we find many a sup- 
posedly dull man, who, perhaps, has suffered by comparison 
with the superficial and dishonest student — making a name 
for himself by valuable contributions to science. 

“There are those pessimists who cry, ‘Of what good 
is all this toil, and wherein does it profit me? Life is an 
ephemeral dream at best, and the game not worth the candle. 
Man is born, he lives, and works to live; he dies and is buried 
— where’s the use?’ 

“Ah ! my brother toilers of the midnight lamp — are our 
lives laborious, and our pathway thorny ? They are— Science 
is a hard task-mistress, and he who worships at her shrine, 
must be as patient as the penitents of old, as self-sacrificing 
as the pilgrims, as courageous, faithful and chivalric as the 
crusader of the days of courtly knight and stately dame. 
And is our reward great? Nay nay, the horny-handed 
mechanic, has a better average chance of survival than we. 

“Well might the most optimistic, the most faithful, 
among us cry, ‘What good?’ Oh, what indeed! 

“ ‘ Cui bono?’ cries the pessimist. Bah! his liver is out 
of tune. 


398 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ Cui bono?’ cries the brassy- mouthed Shylock, in 
search of his commercial pound of flesh. 

“ ‘ Cui bono?’ whispers the coward, whose red corpuscles 
were long" ag"o devoured by the white — 

“Can we answer these piteous plaints? We can, hope- 
fully, tersely, bravely, and with a sublime faith in the 
survival of the fittest. 

“The history of scientific prog-ress shows a vast pro- 
cession of departed shades, filing- silently into the valley of 
oblivion. In those shadowy ranks may be found the expound- 
ers of the fantastic creeds and quasi-scientific sophistry of 
past ag-es. Side by side with these old-time excrescences 
upon the body scientific, stalk the g-houls and g-oblins of 
quackery — g-aunt and g-rim. The chill depths of Lethe yawn 
to receive them. Down, down they g-o into the stream of for- 
getfulness, and the gates of obscurity close behind them 
forever! Their works live not after them. They are the 
snow images of science, and cannot endure in the warm sun- 
light of history. 

“Far different is the lot of him whose work is the out- 
pouring of a logical mind, inspired by honesty, and that 
ardent devotion to the cause of humanity that the scientist 
alone has shown the world through all the ages. The last 
sleep is to him but that rest which kind Nature gives to the 
humblest and the greatest of her sons alike. 

“We cry, '"vale!'' to the hero of science, and wish him 
pleasant dreams, but we dismiss not his fame to the shadowy 
valley of dead lumber. We forget only that which was ‘of 
the earth, earthy.’ We keep green the memory of his noble 
works — those qualities of mind and heart that we admired, 
and loved, and venerated, can never be forgotten. 

“It has been said by some skeptic, that immortality is 
another name for posterity. Possibly some may quarrel 
with this cynical sentiment. No one, however, can deny 
that immortality which the delver in science or in letters 
gains through the creations of his brain. 

“Is Newton dead? Ask our little children who it was 
that discovered the law of gravitation. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


399 


“Is Shakespeare dead? Ask the little tatterdemalion 
who brings your morning paper — he will tell you of the 
pleasant hours he has spent with good Tom Keane, ranting 
the lines of Richard the Third, and if you but suggest a scin- 
tilla of confidence in Ignatius Donnelly, he will boycot you. 

“Is Stephenson dead? His spirit pulsates in every 
throb of the mighty monsters that speed along the iron rails 
of our great commercial arteries. 

“Is Priestly dead? You, my boy, who are fresh from 
the quiz room, may answer. 

“Is Hippocrates dead? Ask the veriest tyro in medi- 
cine. 

“Is Benjamin Rush dead? Ask the records of the noble 
institutions devoted to the care of those poor, stricken beings 
— our insane. If they do not answer, read the Declaration of 
Independence and see who signed it. 

“If these men be dead, then is the foundation stone of 
my faith in immortality torn rudely away, and I must echo 
the plaint of the pessimist — ‘Life is not worth the living.’ 

“Death is not the fate of such as they. They are born 
again, with each new life that enters the world. The Goddess 
of Fame says in the language of the immortal of immortals 
in literature, ‘I am the resurrection and the life.’ The fame 
of our heroes is resurrected with the first prattle of the 
childish lips that recount their names and deeds. 

“Such spirits breathe their vitality into all the treasures 
of art, science and letters of their day and generation. Their 
blood will course through the veins of all generations to come. 
Their glory descends to posterity, freed from the dross of 
worldliness with which their earthly existence encumbered it; 
speeds on through futurity with gathering lustre, and blends 
with the river Time, on its way to that mighty intellectual 
ocean toward which the tiny rivulets and majestic streams of 
human ambition ever flow. 

“With the records of our past leaders before us, shall 
we, like cowards, cry, ‘Cui bono?’ — or shall we up and do our 
level best? 

“It is not given to every man to be a genius, but to all 
men is given the precious privilege of self-development within 


400 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


the rang’e of each individual capacity. The birds of spring* 
carol the fame of Audubon ; the delicate violet and the majestic 
oak alike, embalm the renown of Linnaeus in frag*rance, or 
picture it ag'ainst the landscape in rug*g*ed, stately beauty. 
The living- rock beneath our feet is emblazoned with the deeds 
of Ag-assiz, making- pag-es of a history most sublime. Many 
fathoms down at the bottom of _old ocean, the little coral insect 
has built a monument to the immortal Darwin that will endure 
till the end of earth. The doctor, with his fing-er on the pulse 
of humanity, pays just and humble tribute to the g-enius of 
the immortal Harvey, who discovered the circulation of the 
blood. 

“And so, there is an immortality worth striving for, more 
tangible and real than that of the soul; not to be reached by 
the devious path of creed or spiritual phantasm — yet open to 
all but the unfit. 

“The achievements of the genius may flare up with 
dazzling brilliancy, only to go out in smoke, but that smoke 
is incense on the altar of progress. To the honest worker 
are thrown the pearls of fame — let him gather them quickly, 
lest they be trodden in the mire of oblivion by the swine of 
dishonesty and the black beasts of quackery. 

“The. world may sing of its Alexanders and Napoleons, 
but there are no heroes like ours of science! 

“And so, my boy, join with me in a tribute to those who 
have immolated their lives upon the altar of science, that you 
and I — we of humbler mould — might drink of the waters of 
knowledge. 

“A health to our unforgotten— those immortals of fame 
whose names adorn the roll of honor of the student of science 
and of letters, the world over ! ^ 

‘ They shall resist the empire of decay, 

When time is o’er and worlds have passed away. 

Tho’ in the dust their perished hearts may lie, 

Their name and fame can never die. 


“ But, to return to our story : 

^ “It was on a calm, sultry evening in the month of July 1860, 
^hat I embarked on board a steamboat plying between San 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


401 


Francisco and Stockton, the latter city being- the g-ateway by 
which I was to enter the wonderful country which was dis- 
ting-uished by the wealth and necessity of doctors so g-raph- 
ically described by my friend, Mr. Allen. From Stockton, I 
must continue my journey by stag-e — the slower process of 
walking-, thoug-h economical, being- for many and obvious 
reasons, not to be preferred. 

“The trip up the Sacramento river, althoug-h pleasant 
enoug-h, had very little novelty about it, and I confess that I at 
first experienced a feeling- of disappointment at the lack of 
entertainment which the scenery afforded — but I was soon 
to have all the excitement my system was able to stand. 

“Our route lay for a relatively short distance up the 
Sacramento, the major portion of my journey being- com- 
prised by one of its tributaries — the San Joaquin — a stream 
that is insig-nificant enoug-h during- the dry season, but which 
in the early spring- is so formidable as to make a very decided 
impression of its capacity for evil, upon the beholder — 
especially if he happen to be living- near enoug-h to the river 
to g-et the benefit of its overflow duifing- the spring- freshets. 

“We had hardly entered the San Joaquin, before the 
exciting- entertainment to which I have alluded, beg-an — I 
received my first introduction to the mosquito of the tule 
country. 

“I suppose, my boy, that you see no novelty in this, 
indeed, I myself, had not entertained the idea that the mos- 
quito had any special points of interest other than those with 
which I was already acquainted — but I didn’t know the Cali- 
fornia variety. 

“When the mosquito of the San Joaquin valley first 
dawned upon my astonished vision, he came in a tentative 
manner, sing-ly or in pairs. My first impression was, that it 
was a fine, toothsome variety of snipe or woodcock, with 
which I had to deal. For a moment I reg-retted that I had 
not broug-ht a shot-g-un with me — there seemed to be g-ood 
hunting- en route. The next minute I had classified my dis- 
covery as vampires, and then I yearned for a suit of armor. 
Those poniard-billed devils had made the discovery that I was 
a tenderfoot, and, what was much more to their hellish pur- 


402 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


pose, a ‘tender-hide.’ They now came in buzzing*, humming*, 
whirring* clouds! 

“And with what creditor-like persistency did they pre- 
sent their bills — and such bills! They double-discounted 
those of all the plumbers on earth ! I have been truly and 
reverently thankful ever since my California experience, that 
no tule mosquito ever broke off his insinuating*, bayonet-like 
bill in my shrinking, all-too-tender flesh. 

“The good people of New Jersey fancy they have adult, 
robust mosquitoes in their countr^q but they should see the 
tule-bred gentleman! He is to the Jersey variety as is a sand- 
piper to a sand-hill 
crane. He has a bill 
like a sword-fish, an 
appetite like a hun- 
gry wolf, a soul like 
Jack the Ripper, and 
a conscience — like a 
corporation. 

“Is the mosquito 
of the San Joaquin a 
bird? He is ; he is a 
hawk, a buzzard and 
a screech-owl all in 
one. Is he an insect? 
Well — perhaps. He 
may be an insect — if 
the tsetse fly is indigenous to the valley of the San Joaquin, 
or if it be possible to cross the spicy yellow-jacket and the 
tarantula. 

“ There are no crocodiles in the California marshes— but 
there are mosquitoes that can give the festive saurian ‘ cards 
and spades. ’ 

“The unabridged mosquito of California has just one 
redeeming trait, which he shares in common with his cold- 
blooded relative, the rattlesnake; he does most musically 
warn his victim of his cruel intentions. But woe betide the 
man who cannot or will not heed the warning! It is related 
that a certain citizen of Stockton, once upon a time, went on a 



OVER THE HOOKAH. 


403 


howling- drunk and finally landed in a bed of tules, where he 
proceeded to take a nap. When he was eventually found, most 
of that precious eig-hteen pounds of blood which the physiolo- 
g-ists tell us a full-g-rown man should contain, was g-one, and 
not being- able to follow a juiceless career, the gentleman 
died. All of which shows the fallacy of trying to kill germs 
by the internal administration of antiseptics. Even the mos- 
quitoes were not deterred from assailing that hapless man, 
though his hide was full of firewater such as no country but 
California ever produced. Still, it might be interesting to 
know what became of those buzzy, murderous inebriates who 
lunched off that fellow's blood.— 

“ The San Joaquin river is, without doubt, the crookedest 
navigable stream in the world. There was never a snake 
that could contort himself into so fantastic an outline as pre- 
sented by that lazily meandering branch of the Sacramento. 
So crooked is it, that one entertains a constant dread of run- 
ning ashore — the bank is always dead ahead and unpleasantly 
near. 

“This serpentine river traverses a perfectly level plain 
throughout the navigable part of its course, its banks being 
flanked by tule beds which extend farther than the eye can 
see — indeed, the valley of the San Joaquin is one vast bed of 
tules, extending fully one hundred and fifty miles. When, 
as is occasionally the case after the dry season, during the 
fall and early winter months, the tule beds happen to be on 
fire, the spectacle, especially at night, is at once grand andter- 
riblv impressive. I remember on one occasion taking a night 
trip up the river during one of these fires. The scene in 
the vicinity of Monte Diablo, Avas one of the most majestic 
and awe-inspiring I have ever witnessed. The name of ‘The 
Devil’s Mountain’ had never seemed so singularly appropriate 
as on that occasion. 

“It was nearly three o’clock in the morning when I 
arrived at Stockton, and, as there was nothing to be gained 
by going ashore, I remained aboard the boat, determined to 
get the full benefit of a morning nap. It seemed to me that 
I had just closed my eyes, when I was awakened by the yell- 
ing of the roustabouts and stage agents on the wharf. I had 


404 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


barely time to dress, hustle ashore and hurriedly swallow a 
cup of coffee, before my stage was ready to start, and I was 
off for Jacksonville— the particular town of Tuolumne county 

that I had determined to favor 



“ There was nothing pleasant about that stage ride — it 
was alone memorable for its inconveniences and its motley 
load of passengers. A hot, dusty, bumping journey in the 
old-time California stage, makes very pretty reading as Bret 
Harte has described it, but I am free to say that I was not 
sufficiently romantic to enable me to do the subject justice — 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


405 


from his standpoint at least. The red dust of the California 
stag-e road g-ets into a fellovr’s system so deeply that his ideas 
are apt to be of a practical or perhaps profane sort, even 
thoug-h he be quite sentimental. 

“Picturesque, however, the ride certainly was ; my fel- 
low passeng-ers were nearly all worthy of study, and, had I 
been an artist, would have received pictorial attention. Sev- 
eral red-shirted, rough-bearded miners, lent just the right 
touch of local color, while the imitation frontiersman — of 
whom I was the type — was sufficiently well represented to 
afford a suitable foil for the genuine article, as typified by 
my brawny-chested, be-pistoled, unkempt fellow passen- 
gers. 

“In one corner of the stage, was a little chap who was 
evidently what we would call a dude nowadays. This young 
gentleman had done his level best to put a bold front oh 
matters, by rigging himself out like a cowboy. The result 
was somewhat ludicrous, as you might imagine. Nor was 
the poor little idiot by any means unconscious of his features 
of incongruity — he realized most keenly the absurdity of his 
position and the fact that he was being guye'd. The miners 
seemed to enjoy the situation immensely, however. 

“‘Say, pardner,’ said one tawny-bearded giant, leaning 
toward the innocent, and startling him so that his eye-glasses 
nearly dropped off his nose — ‘Gimme a pull et yer pistol, wont 
ye ?’ 

“‘Aw, beg pawdon, sir, what did you say?’ stammered 
the dude. * 

“ ‘ W’y, I s’posed ye could understan’ th’ English lang- 
widge,’ replied the miner, ‘but seein’ ez how ye don’t. I’ll 
translate her to ye. I axed ye ter give me er pull et yer 
whisky bottle.’ 

“‘Aw, really,’ said the innocent, ‘I’d be chawmed, you 
know, doncher know, but I don’t carry the article. In fact, 
sir, I nevaw dwink.’ 

“ ‘ Ye don’t say so? Wall, I want ter know!’ answered 
the miner. ‘ Now, see hyar, sonny, seein’ ez how ye haint got 
no whisky, jes’ gimme er chaw uv terbacker an’ we’ll callet 
squar’.’ 


406 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘ I— aw — I’m sorry to say that I don’t use tobacco, sir.’ 

“‘Sho! §■’ long' young’ feller! Is — thet — so? How ther 
h — 1 d’ye keep er g-oin’? Whut d’ye do fer excitement — 
p’raps ye plays poker, eh?’ said the stalwart son of the 
pick. 

“ ‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed the tenderfoot, in dismay, ‘I nevaw 
play cards ! ’ 

“‘Ye don’t tell me!’ replied the miner, ‘Wall! wall! 
wall! By ther way, young feller; be keerful not ter lose ’em 
— ye mout need ’em ter git home with.’ 

“ ‘Need what, sir?’ asked the victim. 

“‘Yer wings!’ — ^and the miners broke out in a huge 
guffaw that bade fair to dislocate a wheel of the stage, and 
impelled the driver to look anxiously and inquiringly at his 
passengers. 

“The tenderfoot collapsed, and remained in a state of 
complete paralysis until he arrived at his destination, which, 
fortunately for his sensitive organization, happened to be the 
first town where we changed horses. Ashe minced gingerly 
away toward the hotel, the miners winked at each other most 
prodigiously. Happening to catch the big fellow’s eye, by a 
happy inspiration I was impelled to wink too — this at once 
established me on a friendly footing with my rough com- 
panions, and as I happened to have a bottle of fairly good 
liquor with me, the rest of the way into the regard of those 
simple miners was easily traversed. 

“ During the conversation that naturally followed the un- 
conventional formation of our acquaintance, the big-bearded 
fellow who appeared to be the leader of the little party of 
miners, following the blunt fashion of the country suddenly 
remarked — 

“‘By ther way, stranger, whut mout be yer name, an’ 
whut part uv ther diggin’s mout ye be headin’ fer?’ 

“ ‘Well,’ I replied, smilingly, ‘it is about time we intro- 
duced ourselves, isn’t it? My name is William Weymouth, 
recently of Kentucky, a doctor by profession, and bound for 
Jacksonville, where I contemplate digging gold when the 
weather will permit, and practicing medicine when it will 
not.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


407 


Er doctor, an’ bound fer Jacksonville, eh ? Wall, Doc , * 
said my new acquaintance, reaching’ out his grimy paw with 

a cordiality that could not be mistaken, ‘I’m d d glad ter 

know ye! Jacksonville is our town, an’ er h — 1 uv er good 
town she is et thet, y’u bet! We’re jes’ gittin’ back from 
’Frisco— an’ doin’ it on tick, too. We’ve bin doin’ ther sport 
racket down yonder, an’ I reckon ther sports hevdone us, eh, 
pards?’ 

“ His ‘ pards ’ having acquiesced, my brawny friend cut 
off a huge chew of ‘nigger heel,’ stowed it away in his 
capacious cheek, and after a few preliminary expectorations 
that resembled geysers, continued — 

“‘Ef et hedn’t bin fer ole Tom McDougall up thar on 
ther box, we’d er took Walker’s line back ter our claims’ — 
and the big miner glanced gratefully in the direction of the 
generous Mr. McDougall. 

“ ‘And now that I have found that you are to be my fellow 
townsmen,’^! said, pleasantly, ‘permit me to remind you that 
the introduction has been one-sided. What are your names, 
may I ask?’ 

“The miner winked at his companions, laughed a little, 
deep down in his hug-e red beard, and replied — 

“ ‘D d ef I didn’t fergit thet thar wuz two sides ter 

ther interdoocin’ bizness. Ye see, stranger, we aint payin’ 
much attention ter fellers’ handles in ther mines. Most 
enny ole thing ’ll do fer er name. Thet’s why we sometimes 
fergits our manners. This yere gang is purty well supplied 
with names, but ye moutn’t hev sich good luck ev’rv time, 
’specially in Tuolumne county, eh, pards?’ 

“ ‘ His ‘pards’ having again nodded and winked their 
approval, my brawny friend proceeded with his introduc- 
tions. 

‘“I’m called in ther diggin’s, by sev’ral names, an’ y’u 
kin do like ther rest uv my fren’s— take yer pick. I’m mostly 
known ez ‘Big Brown,’ tho’ some folks calls me ‘Big Sandy.’ 
When I wuz in ther states, I b’lieve they used ter call me 
‘Daniel W. Brown,’ but I wouldn’t swar to et. This feller 
nex’ ter me hyar, is the ’hon’able Mister Dixie, er ‘Snub- 
nose Dixie,’ fer short, who aint never hed much ter say 


408 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


erbout his other name, ef he ever hed enny, eh, Dixie? Thet 
lantern-jawed cuss settin’ ’long* side uvy’u, is Deacon Jersey, 
utherwise an’ more faver’bly known ez Link Spears. We 
calls him ‘deacon,’ coz he wuz never inside uv er church in 
his hull life. He’s th’ only g*enooine deacon this side uv ther 
Sierras. Thar aint none uv ther hypercrit’ erbout him 
nuther, I kin tell ye. Ye’ll find us fellers’ tastes kinder runs 
erlike, f’r instance — ’ and Big* Brown looked long*ing*ly in the 
direction of my ‘pistol ’ pocket.* 

“ ‘In the matter of thirst,’ I sug*g*ested. 

“‘Right y’u air. Doc! I kin see y’u air goin’ ter be er 
valooable addition to our dig*g*in's. We need er doctor ez kin 
tell whut’s ther matter with er feller ’thout cuttin’ him wide 
open. Ye see, we likes ter keep our own ban’s in, an’ don’t 
kalkerlate ter leave much uv ther cuttin’ ter ther doctor — 
eniiyhpw, ’till we’ve hed our little innin’s, eh, boys?’ 

“Once again the boys agreed, with, I thought, just a 
slight suspicion of gratified vanity in their expressions. 

“It was a long, weary way to Jacksonville, but my time 
was well spent. Thanks to the kindness and garrulity of my 
new-found, yet none the less sincere, friends, and the confi- 
dence engendered by my rapidly diminishing supply of 
stimulants, I found myself by the time I arrived at my desti- 
nation, fairly well acquainted with the town, its ways, and its 
citizens. 

“Jacksonville, at the time I landed in that then thriving 
place, was one of the most noted mining centers in the placer 
country. Its location was most picturesque. Nestled among 
the foot-hills of the glorious Sierras on the banks of the 
Tuolumne river, and peopled by as cosmopolitan and hetero- 
geneous a population as was ever gathered within the confines 
of one small town, my new home was attractive because of its 
novelty, if nothing more.’ 

“Ages and ages of alternately falling and receding 
waters, centuries of melting snows and enormous rainfiills. 


* The author asks the iudulgenee of such of the Argonauts of Jacksonville as may 
still be living. It is with the kindest sentiments, that he takes unwonted liberties 
with the names of men who form the most picturesque recollections of his childhood. 
When one’s memory is peopled with real characters, it is difficult to invent fictitious 
ones. In the author’s opinion, it would be wrong to do so, even though sanctioned by 
usage. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


409 


had washed down from the mountains into the valley of the 
Tuolumne, those auriferous particles, the g'reat abundance 
of which had made Jacksonville spring- into busy life and 
thriving prosperity, almost in a single day. 

“But the very elements that had laid the alluring founda- 
tion of the valley’s wealth, were even then, conspiring to 
avenge the rifling of the rich deposits of the valley by the 
irreverent hands of the modern Argonauts. 

“The Tuolumne river was a variable stream. During 
the dry season, it was but a thin, disjointed, silvery ribbon, 
across which one could walk dry-shod, in places. But in the 
early spring, the little stream at which the wayfarer was 
wont to laugh, and in whose bed the eager miner delved with 
impunity and profit, took revenge upon the disturbers of its 
ancient course — it became a raging torrent, resistlessly car- 
rying all before it and oftentimes severely punishing for his 
temerity, the unwary miner who had pitched his tent or built 
his rude cabin too near the river bank. But all the revenge 
which the Tuolumne had taken in all the years since the 
settlement of the valley, was as nothing compared with that 
which was yet to come. That vale of thrift, industry and 
smiling prosperity, was destined to be a valley of death, de- 
struction, desolation and ruin. 

“But were not Pompeii and Herculaneum joyful and 
unsuspecting to the last? And why should the people of 
Tuolumne dread a danger of which familiarity and fancied 
security had made them forgetful, or possibly even con- 
temptuous. The average citizen of Jacksonville could calmly 
face death in material form, and why should he concern him- 
self with that which regularly passed by upon the other side, 
with each succeeding spring? 

“ By no means the least attractive feature of Jacksonville, 
was the rugged self-confidence and honesty of the majority 
of its people. Even the Chinese, who composed a large part 
of the population, seemed to be a better variety of the almond- 
eyed heathen than I had supposed could possibly exist. The 
hair-triggered sensibility and powder-and-ball ethics of the 
dominant race, seemed to be most effective civilizers. 


410 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“lam far from claiming- that Jacksonville presented an 
ideal state of civilization, but this I do say, in justice to my 
old town; life and property were safer there than they are 
to-day in many more pretentious communities, that claim to 
rank as centers from which civilization radiates like the rays 
of a’star. A sense of personal responsibility made the F rench 
the politest nation on the face of the earth ; it was the founda- 
tion upon which the spirit of the ‘Old South’ was builded 
firmer than a rock; it was the soul that beat back the furious 
waves of shot and shell that so often hailed upon the southern 
chivalry on many a hard-foug-ht field — a similar spirit of self- 
assertion and personal responsibility pervaded the Tuolumne 
valley, and raised its averag-e moral standard to a heig-ht 
beyond that of many a metropolis of a more vicious and effete 
civilization. 

“Warm-hearted, impulsive, honest, courag-eous, fiery- 
tempered, quick-trig-g-ered Arg-onauts of the Tuolumne valley 
— a health to those of you who still live, and peace to those who 
have laid down the pick and pan forever and have inspected 
their sluice-boxes for the last time ! When the final ‘clean-up ’ 
comes, may the ‘find’ be full of nug-g-ets — ‘sixteen dollars to 
the ounce !’ 

“There was no better opportunity of becoming- intimately 
acquainted with the town of Jacksonville, its people and its 
customs, than was afforded by the Tuolumne House, w'here I 
made my headquarters. There may be better hotels in the 
world than that primitive one, but it had outg-rown its canvas 
period and had become a pretentious frame structure, and 
that fact alone made it famous. It had no rival, for the old 
‘Empire,’ so long- presided over by that honest, sturdy old 
Scot, Rob McCoun, had long- since been converted into a 
Chinese grocery, while its erstwhile owner had been dead for 
several years. As for the only other hotel, McGinnis, its 
proprietor, had never been in the race since his cook, one 
unlucky day, brewed the coffee and tea simultaneously in the 
same pot. The hundred and seventy-odd boarders who fed 
at McGinnis’ festive ‘rack’ were not to be consoled — thev 
quit him ‘cold,’ and went over to the enemy. Tradition savs 
that ‘Mac’ half killed the luckless cook, one Mike Corcoran, 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


411 


‘fer puttin’ coffee in ther tay pot, ther d d scoundrel! ’ but 

the boarders were not to be placated.* 

I believe this tradition, because I know from personal 
observation, that my fellow citizens of Jacksonville were very 
particular, and quite sensitive with respect to the quality and 
quantity of liquids that entered their stomachs. 

“ Laying- the material comforts of the Tuolumne House 
aside, there was never a cheerier, heartier, pluckier boniface 
than Georg-e Keyse. He was to the manner born, and could 
take a g-un or a knife away from an excited boarder quite as 
g-racefully and quickly as he could, if necessary, turn his own 
flapjacks. 

“ Mr. Keyse had an invaluable assistant in one Dave 
Smug-g-ins, who officiated alternately as barkeeper, porter and 
hotel clerk. Smug-g-ins was a well-bred man, and, it was said, 
was orig-inally educated for the ministry. The only evidence 
at hand, however, was certain oratorical propensities that 
overcame him and made him forg-et his real position when he 
awakened the boarders early o’ morning-s. I can hear him 
now, as he stood at the top of the stairway, yelling- in sten- 
torian tones — ‘Arouse all ye sleepers! an’ list to ther purty 
little airly birds, er sing-in’ praisestew ther Lord! D— n yer 
bloody eyes! g-it up!’ saying- which, the modern psalmist 
discreetly went below and took his position behind the bar, 
ready to dispense ‘eye-openers’ to the early caller. 

“Jacksonville proved to be not only a pleasant place of 
residence but an excellent field for my professional work. 
The climate was almost g-erm-proof, and it was a real pleasure 
to practice the semi-military surg-ery characteristic of my 
field of labor. Primary union was my specialty in those days, 
and I used to g-et results, the memory of which sometimes 
makes me blush for those I occasionally g-et with our modern 
aseptic and antiseptic methods. No matter how much my 
patients mig-ht shoot or carve each other, any fellow who had 
enoug-h life left in him to crawl, or be carried, off the field of 
battle, alwa3^s g-ot well. 

“Beyond accompanying- an occasional prospecting- part\% 
larg-ely for recreation but partly in my professional capacity, 

* Axin’ Mr. McGinnis’ pardon — if he be still living. — Author. 


412 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


I did but little in the direction of mining-. My practice g-ave 
me plenty to do, and was lucrative enoug-h as practices g-o, 
so I soon settled down to as routine a life as my curious and 
lively surrounding's would permit. 

“I had been practicing- in Jacksonville about three 
months, when an incident occurred in which a former casual 
acquaintance fig-ured in a very peculiar manner, and which 
served to varieg-ate my already interesting- experiences. 

“I was sitting- in that portion of the Tuolumne House 
yclept by courtesy ‘the office,’ quite late one evening, listen- 
ing to the quaint talk of my miner friends, and marvelling on 
the quantity of fluid the human body could lose by way of 
expectoration, and still live, when I was recalled to a realiza- 
tion of the fact that I was a practitioner of medicine, by a 
voice at the hotel door. 

“ ‘Say, Doc, kin I see y’u er minnit?’ 

“ Looking up, I saw standing in the doorway, one of the 
boys who was most familiarly known as ‘ Toppy, ’ his ‘States ’ 
name being ‘Ike ’ Dexter. Toppy motioned for me to come 
out upon the hotel porch, and impressed by his gravity of 
manner and earnestness of gesticulation, I hastened to com- 
ply. 

“ ‘ What is it, Toppy ? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Wall,’ he said, thar’s one uv my fren’s whut’s bin an’ 
got hisself hurted, an’ I want y’u ter come an’ fix him up. 
He’s er very particular fren’ an’ I’d like ter hev ye do yer 
best on him. Ye needn’t say nuthin’ ter ther boys erbout it, 
jes’ now, Doc.’ 

“‘Very well, Toppy, I’ll go with you, but what kind of 
an accident has befallen your friend?’ I asked. 

Oh, I dunno ez ye could jes’ call it er accident, Doc. 
It’s jest er little shootin’ scrape, thet’s all, an’ I reckon ye’d 
better take sum ‘stracters ’ erlong.’ 

“In accordance with the honest miner’s suggestion I did 
take some bullet extractors with me. 

“‘Ye see. Doc,’ said Toppy, by way of preparatory ex- 
planation of the case I was about to see, ‘this yere fren’ uv 
mine hez bin down in ’Frisco fer a spell, an’ mout hev staid 
thar er good while longer, only some feller picked er row with 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


413 


him. Thar wuz er duel, an’ duels aint so pop’lar down 
’Frisco way ez they uster wuz, ’specially when somebody gits 
hurted. A real bad accident happened ter th’ other feller, 
an’ he passed in his checks. Jim — thet’s my fren’ — got er 
ball in his thigh, whut stuck thar, an’ ez he didn’t hev much 
time ter hunt fer er doctor, he jes’ come up hyar whar it’s 
kinder quiet like, an’ we thort we’d hev y’u sorter look arter 
ther thing. Ye see, Jim wont keer ter git ’roun’ much fer 
er few weeks — not ’till thet air little accident gits blowed 
over’— and Toppy’s eyes gleamed humorously. 

“ My friend led me down to the river bank, and pushing 
aside a clump of willows revealed a small, rudely constructed 
row-boat. 

“‘Ah!’ I said, as I took my seat in the somewhat inse- 
cure-looking and cranky little craft, ‘it is evident that you 
have taken your friend to your own cabin.’ 

“Toppy, as I well knew, had the only abode on the op- 
posite bank of the river, where, high up on the hillside, in 
full though somewhat distant view of the little town, he had 
built a small but neat cabin, that nestled in the bosom of the 
hill, looking not unlike a child’s playhouse as seen from the 
town proper. 

“‘Yep,’ replied the miner, ‘ thar’s whar he is. It aint 
bes’ ter depen’ too much on pop’larity, ye know. Doc, an’ Jim 
’ll be er little safer over thar than in town. Nobody goes ter 
my place— less’n I invite ’em,’ and Toppy grinned sar- 
donically, as he thus recalled to mind the fate of a poor devil 
who did go to his cabin without an invitation — from Toppy — 
in the early days of his housekeeping on the hillside, when a 
more or less charming little Mexican half-breed damsel was 
said to have presided over Toppy’s domestic affairs. 

Being averse to the discussion of people’s family matters, 
I had never conversed with my miner friend on that delicate 
subject. To tell the truth, there seemed to be very little 
encouragement to town gossip in Jacksonville — town-talk was 
too direct a cut to the little collection of white head-boards 
that decorated a small plateau just outside the town. All my 
information on such subjects, was therefore derived from 
more subtle and less dangerous airy rumor. — 


414 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ The river was quite low, and a few vig'orous pulls from 
Toppy’s stalwart arms broug’ht us to the opposite shore, 
from which I could see, far up the hillside, the g-leaming 
white walls of the miner’s rude little home, where lay my 
prospective patient. 

“ Toppy was notoriously careless in his personal groom- 
ing, but the little half-breed had evidently inspired a coat of 
white-wash for the cabin, that endured longer than the senti- 
ment with which its owner had inspired that swarthy little 
traitress. Possibly that gleaming white cabin was her 
monument — who knows? The river ran dangerously and 
temptingly near, considering how short a time it takes to 
fall a few hundred feet down a steep and rocky hillside, and 
rumor whispered that Pepita — well, no one knew where she 
was, and women were not so plentiful in the Tuolumne valley 
that hiding was easy. 

“But the Tuolumne kept its secret well — if it had one. 
Its quick-sands told no tales; they could hide the precious 
gold of the river bottom, why not, perhaps, a mouldering 
skeleton? 

“On entering Toppy’s cabin, completely winded after 
my climb up the hill that constituted his front yard, I found 
my patient lying on a cot in the middle of the room. He 
turned inquiringly toward the door as his host and I entered, 
and what was my amazement to see reflected in the dim 
light of the candle with which the cabin was illuminated, the 
features of the handsome unknown of the San Francisco 
gambling-house, whose adventure with the unfortunate 
young southerner I have already related! The recognition 
was evidently mutual, but I fancied that my patient looked at 
me with an expression slightly suggestive of annoyance. 

“ Toppy’s introduction was as laconic and characteristic 
as himself : 

“ ‘ Doc, this is Jim— Jim, this yere’s Doc Weymouth, an’ 
he’s all right, y’u bet, ’specially on bullets an’ sich things.’ 

“I was used to California customs, hence the cognomen, 
‘Jim,’ was sufficiently comprehensive, and perfectly satis- 
factory to me, and after the brief introduction that my miner 
friend gave me, I proceeded to investigate my case. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


415 


“As Toppy had already informed me of the circum- 
stances that led to the reception of my patient’s wound, I 
made no inquiry in that direction. I found also, that Toppy 
was correct as to the location of the injury — as he had said, 
the ball had entered his friend’s thigh. 

“The wound had been inflicted several days before I 
saw my patient, and would probably have healed promptly 
enough had it not been for the weary ride he had taken 
immediately after the shooting — he had come to Jacksonville 
on horseback. The result of the necessary movement in the 
saddle, together with the hot sun and dust of the roads, had 
been to produce considerable inflammation of the injured 
part. I presume that now-a-days the surgeon would seek for 
no other cause than germ infection for such a condition as 
followed the wound that my patient had received — but at that 
time, things were different; the various sources of irritation 
to which he had been exposed were a reasonable explanation 
of the state in which I found his wound. 

“ The wound was merely muscular, neither important 
vessels nor bone having been injured, and much to my grati- 
fication, I almost immediately succeeded in finding and 
extracting the ball. 

“‘Jim,’ as I will now call him, stood my manipulations 
and the cutting I found necessary in the extraction of the 
bullet, without the slightest indication that such operations 
were not an every-day experience with him — this was not 
without its effect upon Toppy, who looked upon his heroic 
friend with all the pride and tenderness imaginable. 

“When I was first introduced to my patient, he had 
merely nodded his head in greeting. He did not speak 
thereafter, until I had finished dressing his wound, Toppy 
meanwhile answering all the necessary questions. It seemed 
to me, also, that my patient rather pointedly avoided scrutiny 
of his countenance — he either averted his face or shaded it 
with his hand, under the pretense that the flickering light of 
the candle which Toppy held for me affected his eyes, dur- 
ing the entire time of my surgical attention. 

“I gave this circumstance hardly a second thought; 
nothing seemed more natural than that my patient should 


416 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


desire to conceal any little involuntary expression of suffer- 
ing that might have disturbed his features during my some- 
what rough and exceedingly painful manipulations. I was 
struck, however, by his conduct as I was preparing to leave — 

“ ‘Doctor,’ he said, ‘I am very sorry that my old friend 
Toppy insisted on calling you to-night. I could have stood 
the racket till morning, and your rest was much more im- 
portant than my worthless existence. I appreciate your 
kindness, sir, and wish that I could reciprocate in some more 
fitting manner than b}^ mere financial compensation. How- 
ever, that’s the best I can do now,’ saying which, my patient 
reached beneath the rude mattress upon which he was lying, 
drew out a bag of gold, and without further ceremony handed 
it to me. 

“ ‘I wish it might have been more, my dear doctor,’ said 
Jim, ‘but I came away from ’Frisco in a deuce of a hurry, 
and without heeling myself properly. However, I have 
divided evenly with you, and I believe such a rate of compen- 
sation is usually considered fair bv professional men,’ and he 
smiled somewhat mischievously, his black eyes twinkling 
with humor. 

“ My heart warmed toward my patient, I knew not why. 
It certainly was not because of his liberality, for that was 
common enough in that rude mining town, where the people 
were so uncivilized as to believe that a physician’s services 
should be liberally compensated. I kept no books in those 
days — my patients were so wild and uncivilized that I did 
not find it necessary. 

“ ‘ I will see you again to-morrow, sir,’ I said, as I nodded 
in recognition of the liberal fee that my interesting patient 
had given me, and extended my hand to bid him good morning 
— for it was then long past midnight. 

“‘Oh no,’ replied Jim hastily; ‘it will probably not be 
necessary, and my friend Toppy here, who is an exceptionally 
good nurse, can give me all the attention I require. Be assured 
sir, that you shall be called again if anything unfavorable 
arises. There’s something healing in the California air. 
The bullet is out, and as I can rest quietly here in Toppy ’s 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


417 


cabin, there will be no further trouble, I am sure. I have 
been there before, doctor’ — and he smiled g-rimly. 

“ ‘Very well, then,’ I said, ‘if you insist on assuming- the 
future responsibility of your case, I suppose I have no right 
to protest. Remember your promise, however, and call me at 
the slightest intimation of trouble. I will learn how you are 
from time to time, through Toppy, and if I should at any 
time receive an unfavorable report, I might be discourteous 
enough to call without invitation. 

“‘I think we understand each other, doctor,’ replied 
Jim, ‘and now I believe I’ll take a nap; sleep has been a 
scarce commodity with me for a few days past.’ 

“ As I left the cabin, I could not rid myself of the impres- 
sion that there was something strangely familiar about my 
patient. My first acquaintance with him was certainly the 
night of the affair at the Palace in San Francisco, and yet, he 
impressed me differently from what might have been expected 
in meeting an entire stranger. I had an ill-defined impres- 
sion that Jim had been a factor in my life before. But when, 
and where? My mind was a blank upon that point, nor was 
I likely to become enlightened, considering the lack of encour- 
agement with which inquiries into the personal histories of 
the early California citizen were usually met. 

“ When we arrived at the bank of the river on our return 
to the town, Toppy safely secured his little boat to the over- 
hanging willows, and insisted on escorting me back to the 
hotel. Although this was unnecessary, I was very glad to 
have the kind-hearted fellow’s company, the more especially 
as I desired to learn something of my new and interesting 
patient. 

“Arriving at the Tuolumne House, I said — 

“ ‘ Toppy, you have furnished me the opportunity of 
losing my sleep, and I propose to get even. It is almost day- 
light, and we may as well make a full night of it. I want to 
know more of your friend Jim. I don’t know why, but he 
greatly interests me. Not but that I am always interested in 
my patients, but my feeling toward your friend is a rather 
peculiar one. Suppose we find a quiet seat somewhere and 
talk a little about him?’ 


418 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ Toppy acquiesced, and having- declined the cig-ar I 
proffered him, in favor of a stubby old pipe that he pro- 
duced and lig-hted, we seated ourselves upon an old stump, 
a little way from the hotel, and he beg-an his story: 

“‘Wall, Doc, I don’t s’pose et’s ness’ary fer me ter tell 
y’u thet Jim’s my best fren’. He’s ther best I ever hed, 
since — wall, since I come frum ther States. I’ve g-ot g-ood 
reasons fer likin’ him, ez you’ll obsarve. 

“ ‘I fust met Jim et Ang-el’s Camp, erbout three years 
erg-o. I wuz prospectin’ ’roun’ thro’ Calaveras county, an’ 
used ter make my headquarters et Ang-el’s. 

“ T used ter booze er lot in them days — more’n I do now. 
Doc— g-uess my hide wuz stretchier then, an’ use’ ter hold 
more. I wuz alius er leetle bit exciterble when I wuz drunk, 
an’ everlastin’ly g-ittin’ inter trouble — thet’s how I fell in 
with Jim. 

“‘I happened ter be raisin’ partickler h — 1 ’roun’ town 
one nig-ht, an’ drifted inter Ned Griffith’s pkice. I’d bin thar 
lots o’ times, an’ ez everybody knowed me, an’ I wuz purty 
pop’lar, I never hed no trouble till this night I’m tellin’ ye 
erbout. 

“‘Etjest happened thet er crowd uv fellers hed come 
down frum Murphy’s Camp ter hev er little fun on the’r own 
account, an’et wuz jes’ my d— d luck ter run agin ther gang 
’bout ther time they wuz beginnin’ ter feel the’r oats purty 
lively, an’ uv course I hed ter git inter er muss with ’em. 

“ ‘ Ez I didn’t hev no fren’s in ther place et ther time, an’ 
folks don’t mix in other fellers’ rows much in ther diggin’s, I 
wuz buckin’ agin er dead tough game. Ez luck ’d hev et, I 
happened ter git mixed up with ther toughest cuss in ther 
crowd— Three-fingered Jack, er feller whut’ll ornyment er 
tree yit, see ef he don’t!* I got my gun out, but ther d— d 
thing wuz outer fix, an’ ef et hedn’t bin, I wuz too bilin’ drunk 
ter hit er cow et three paces. 

“ ‘ Wall, Jack jes’ played with me with his bowie, kinder 
carvin' me up on th’ installment plan, ye know. He’d socked 
er few purty good sized holes inter my ole carkiss, an’ wuz 
g iftin' r eady ter finish up ther job in good shape, when Jim 


* And ornament the gallows-tree he did, several ^ars later.— Author. 


OVER THE HOOKAH 


419 



come in an’ took er ban’ in ther g-ame with his own little 
bowie. 

'“‘I wuz too full er booze ter ’predate ther show, but 


“kinder carvin’ me up on TH’ INvSTAULMENT plan.’’ 






420 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


they do say ez how Jim did er purty neat job. Jack g-ot well 
arter er while, but he didn’t act very sosherble with ther 
folks et Ang-el’s enny more. 

“ ‘ When I found out how Jim hed saved my life, y’u kin 
jes’ bet I didn’t lose no time er lookin’ him up an’ squarin’ my- 
self. I’d heerd er Jim afore, an’ I knowed he wuz er gambler 
by perfession, but he played er game thet night, thet made 
er big winnin’ fer yores trooly, an’ I’ve jes’ bin layin’ fer er 
chance ter do him er good turn ever since. He may be er 
gambler, but he plays er squar’ game — an’ poker et thet — 
thet’s why they calls him “ Poker Jim.” He’s er gentleman 
born an’ bred, thet’s dead sart’in, an’ he’s got more eddica- 
tion an’ squar’ness than er hull lot er people whut never 
gambled in the’r lives. When Poker Jim makes er promise, 
et’s kep’. Ef he shud borrer er thousand dollars uv me — an’ 
he could hevet too, ef / hed et, y’u bet! — an’ he should say, 
“ Lookee hyar, Toppy, I’ll give this back to yer, nex’ Monday 
et five erclock, an’ he wuzn’t on han’ wdth ther stuff, w’y, 
then I’d know thet suthin hed happened ter him. Poker 
Jim ’ll keep enny promise thet he makes, ef he’s erlive when 
ther time fer squar’in things comes.’ 

“‘You have excellent reasons for your loyalty to your 
friend Jim,’ I said. ‘He certainly deserves your friendship 
and respect, no matter what his occupation may be. I have 
met him before, and under circumstances that proved him to 
be a truly noble character. But tell me, Toppy, how does it 
happen that you and Jim drifted so widely apart?’ 

“‘Wall, ye see. Doc, ’twuz this way. Ther folks up et 
Angel’s got so virtoous arter er while, thet gamblers wuz too 
rich fer ’em, an’ they ordered all ther gams ter vamoose. 
Jim got ketched in ther round-up ’long with ther rest, an’ 
hed ter git ’twixt ther light uv two days. He couldn’t lick 
’em all, less’n they’d come one et er time, so he jes’ played 
git up an’ git with t’other sports. He went ter ’Frisco, ter 
play fer higher stakes than Angel’s Camp could put up, an’ I 
come down hyar. Ye see, I wuzn’t none too pop’lar, on 
ercount uv standin’ up fer Jim, an’ ez I don’t gin’rally fergit 
ter say my say, I got inter er little argyment with one uv ther 
prom’nent cit’zens uv Angel’s one day, I wuz sober on thet 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


421 


erkasyun, an’ — wall, I come down ter Jacksonville fer my 
health. I writ ter Jim ez soon ez I g-ot hyar, an’ told him 
whar I wuz, an’ ez soon ez he got inter trouble he knowed 
whar ter find er fren’ whut’ll stan’ by him ez long ez ther’s 
er shot in ther locker — savvy ? ’ 

“ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘Poker Jim will soon be able to take care 
of himself again, and I hope he will not experience any an- 
noyance from his recent duelling experience. He certainly 
is possessed of great courage, and I should dislike to see his 
bravery get him into further trouble.’ 

“ ‘ Y’u kin jes’ bet Jim’s got sand ! Y’u air all right on 
thet pint, Doc. Thar aint er braver man livin’. D’ye know 
whut I seed him do one night up ter Sonora? Wall, thar wuz 
eight uv us fellers went up thar to er fandango, an’ Jim went 
erlong ter kinder give ther thing er little tone, ye know. 

“ ‘ ’Mericans aint none too pop’lar with ther greasers, 
’cept with the’r women folks, an’ them fellers up et Sonora 
wuz jes’ bilin’, when they seed us come inter the’r ole fan- 
dango. When we got ter cuttin’ ’em out with ther black-eyed 
senoritas, they wuz ugly ’nough ter slit our throats, an’etwuz 
jest our blind luck thet fin’lly kep’ ’em frum doin’ et. 

“‘Jim don’t off’n drink enny licker, but he wuz feelin’ 
purty good thet night, an’ jes’ spilin’ fer er row with ther 
d — d greasers. Things wuz gittin’ too slow fer him, so he 
takes er piece o’ chalk, goes out inter ther middle uv ther hall 
an’ draws er gre’t big ’Merican eagle on ther floor. Then he 
pulled his gun an’ called for some d — d greaser ter step on 
ther bird! We seed we wuz in fer et, an’ gathered ’round 
him ready fer ther music ter begin. Each side wuz er waitin’ 
fer t’other t’ open the ball, when ther feller whut run ther 
hall hed ther lights blowed out. We grabbed Jim an’ hustled 
him out, an’ made him take leg bail ’long with ther rest uv us. 
He wanted ter go back, but we wouldn’t hev et — ther game 
wuz jest er leetle too stiff fer us, y’u bet! Oh yes. Poker 
Jim is dead game ! 

“‘An’ now. Doc, I’m goin’ ter tell yer suthin’ on ther 
dead quiet. Jim’s got er wife an’ child down in ’Frisco. He 
married er little Spanish gal erbout two years ago, an’ she 
wuz er bute, I kin tell ye! They’ve got er leetle baby ’bout 


422 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


er year ole, an’ Jim’s ther proudes’ feller y’u ever &eed. Ez 
soon ez thet ’F risco scrape is throng'd with, he’s g'oin’ ter send 
fer his fam’ly, an’ I’m g'oin’ ter quit my cabin an’ let Jim an’ 
his folks hev et. My place is kinder outer ther way an" 
private like, an’ thet’ll jes’ suit Jim.’ 

“‘Well, Toppy,’ I said, ‘1 am more interested in your 
friend than ever, and I hope that you may soon consummate 
your plans to domicile him and his family among' us.’ 

“It was now almost daylig'ht, and the voice of the devout 
Dave Smug'g'ins could be heard ring'ing' throng'd the halls, and 
vibrating' the very roof of the hotel, as he hoarsely shouted 
his pious appeal to the slumbering' boarders. 

“Toppy accompanied me to the hotel bar and joined in 
an ‘eye-opener,’ after which he bade me g'ood morning' and 
returned home, while I prepared to do full justice to Keyse’s 
immortal flapjacks.” 


“As Toppy had planned. Poker Jim subsequently be- 
came a citizen of Jacksonville. Advices from San FranciscO' 
showed the excitement caused by the duel to be practically 
over after a few weeks, and, his wound having' healed, my 
patient quietly installed himself among' the sporting' element 
of our population, resuming' the occupation that had earned 
for him the sobriquet of ‘ Poker Jim.’ 

“The inhabitants of Jacksonville had often heard of the 
cool, quiet g'entleman who had called down and cut up Three- 
Fing'ered Jack. Many of his new fellow townsmen knew him 
personally. No questions were asked therefore, when Poker 
Jim quietly and unostentatiously identified himself with our 
thriving' town. Nor did our citizens become more inquisitive, 
when, a short time afterward, Jim’s family arrived and took 
possession of his friend’s cabin. A few curious looks were 
bestowed on Toppy, when it was learned that he had g'iv^en 
up his cabin to the gambler and his family and had taken quar- 
ters at the Tuolumne House. Curiosity being discouraged 
in our little burg, however, and Toppy being inclined to keep 
his own counsel, there was no disposition to press matters to 
the point of disturbing his serenity. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


423 


“The same conservative tendency with which the towns- 
people regarded the arrangement between Toppy and his 
friend Jim, also protected the family of the latter from intru- 
sion. Jim never alluded to his domestic affairs, and as Toppy 
did all of the necessary chores and errands for his friend’s 
family, the personnel of the latter was entirely a matter of 
speculation. 

“Despite the prejudice which even a mining town enter- 
tains against the professional gambler, however leniently his 
occupation may be regarded, Poker Jim became very popular. 
His squareness and undisputed courage, associated with his 
quiet, unobtrusive demeanor and the never-failing accuracy 
with which he handled his revolver, gained for him an esteem, 
which, if it was not respect, had about the same market value 
as that sentimental commodity. 

“Jim’s field of operations was necessarily such that I did 
not often come in contact with him. I had endeavored to 
cultivate him at first, but he seemed to be decidedly averse to 
continuing my acquaintance and even appeared to avoid me, 
much to my bewilderment. I often wondered why he should 
have conducted himself so strangely, and also, why his appear- 
ance and ways seemed so familiar. I sometimes wished I 
might have the opportunity of conversing with him, but he 
so persistently avoided me that I finally gave up all hope of 
ever learning more about him. 

“Time passed quickly in Jacksonville, and in the pres- 
sure of work that was forced upon me by numerous cases 
of rheumatism and other effects of exposure during the 
stormy weather of the winter season, I found plenty to 
occupy my attention, hence I had heard very little of the 
affairs of our people at large, for some time. I was there- 
fore quite surprised one evening to find that my fellow- 
citizens were in a state of rather pronounced excitement, and, 
incidentally, greatly concerned about the moral status of our 
community. 

“It seemed that a wave of moral purification had been 
gradually passing through the mining region from one town 
and camp to another, and the fever of moral reaction had 
finally structi: Jacksonville. 


424 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“At a more or less informal meetings held at the Tuo- 
lumne House, at which Tennessee Dick presided with more 
enthusiasm than knowledg-e of parliamentary laws, it was 
finally decided that the g’ambling' element of Jacksonville was 
a superfluous and dang-erous quantit}^ in the body social, and 
must therefore be removed — and that quickly. With the 
gambling- fraternity there was included in a sweepingly con- 
demnatory resolution, certain other unwholesome elements 
in our primitive social system — of the feminine persua- 
sion. 

“It was noticeable that those of our citizens whose losses 
at the gaming table were largest and most recent, or whose 
morals in another direction were least worthy of commenda- 
tion, were the noisiest champions of social reform. As is 
usually the case with meetings where the universal tend- 
ency is to pretend a virtue though one has it not, the party of 
reform — and noise — carried the day. 

“ The meeting was well-timed, for the only man who 
might have interposed an objection to the sweeping tone of 
the final resolution, was absent from town — Toppy had been 
in Stockton for several weeks. Poor fellow! He remained 
in blissful ignorance of the social revolution that menaced the 
safety of Poker Jim, until long after it was too late to defend 
his friend — in this world at least. 

“Public opinion developed into concerted popular action 
very quickly in California mining towns, and by the following 
morning, due notice had been served on every individual who 
was in any way identified with the undesirable element of the 
population, to leave town within twenty-four hours. 

“ Most of the persons who were ordered to move on, had 
been in similar straits before, and were constantly on the 
qui vive of expectation of some such emergency. As practice 
makes perfect, and delay is not healthful after one has been 
told to leave a mining town for the good of its morals, the 
majority of the individuals who had been warned, took time 
by the forelock and decamped early. Indeed, by nightfall, 
everybody who had been given the ultimatum of the citizens, 
had departed — with one exception. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


425 


“ It was nearly mid-nig-ht of the day of the exodus. A 
larg-e party of our citizens was congreg-ated in the bar-room 
of the Tuolumne House, discussing the important event that 
had so effectually cleared the moral atmosphere of our town. 
The subtle essence of sanctity apparently already pervaded 
our social fabric. 

“Mutual congratulations had been in order for some time, 
and the resultant libations had considerably disturbed the 
equilibrium of the crowd; each man, however, realized that he 
was a thoroughly good fellow, and that everybody else pres- 
ent was pretty good. There was not a man in the crowd, who 
did not feel that he was a modern Hercules, jubilating after 
the successful accomplishment of a task beside which his 
ancient prototype’s experience as chambermaid in the Augean 
Stables, was but a trifling thing indeed. Commingled with 
the self-congratulations of these moral reformers, were blo- 
viating remarks expressive of the awful things the speakers 
would have done, had not the persons who had contaminated 
the very air of our moral little burg, opportunely left in good 
season after having received their conge, 

“ The proceedings of the extempore mutual-admiration- 
society-of-social-purists were at their height, and our citizens 
were fast becoming inflated to the superlative degree, when 
a step was heard on the hotel porch, the door opened, and 
there on the threshold, with a smile of mocking gravity upon 
his handsome face, stood — Poker Jim! 

“He had evidently been riding hard, for his boots and 
clothing were covered with the red dust of the Tuolumne 
roads, and his long hair was in a condition of dusty confusion 
that was totally unlike his usual immaculateness. 

“The sudden quiet that fell upon the noisy crowd was 
something phenomenal, and as a disinterested observer I was 
duly impressed by it. My fellow townsmen were not cowards, 
but they were now face to face with a quality of bravery which 
was more than mere physical indifference to danger. Poker 
Jim was a man whose presence conveyed the impression of 
great intellectual and moral power — and it was not without 
pronounced effect upon those rude miners. 


426 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“‘Good evening-, g-entlemen,’ said Jim, blandJy, ‘I hope 
I’m not intruding- on this scene of festivity and rejoicing- ’ — 
and he looked about him somewhat sarcastically. ‘As you do 



“the door opened, and there .stood poker JIM.’’ 

not seem at all disturbed by my presence,’ he continued, ‘I 
conclude that my company is at least unobjectionable, and 
with your permission I will join your little party,’ and Jim 



OVER THE HOOKAH. 427 

strode up to the bar, his huge spurs clinking a merry defiance 
as he walked. 

“‘You see, gentlemen,’ he continued, ‘I have a very 
impoi tant engagement, which will temporarilv necessitate 
my absence from town, and as I start in the morning, I 
thought I would drop in and bid my fellow citizens good bye. 
It will save you the trouble of sending a committee to see me 

^ prefer that you should not give yourselves any trouble 
on my account. Should you, however, appoint a committee to 
escort me back to town again, I shall not object; indeed, I 
should feel obliged to you if you turned out en 7 tiasse and 
greeted me with a brass band. And now, fellow townsmen, 
friends, and former patrons, have a parting drink with me. 
I see your hand but cannot call you.’ 

“Whether it was because liquor was just then en regle^ 
the spontaneous revival of Jim’s popularity, or his cool, sar- 
castic assurance, is open to question, but the crowd fell to 
with a will, and everybody, with one exception, drank with 
him. For the moment it seemed as though our citizens had 
forgotten that Jim was under the ban. 

“Among the party who had been celebrating the reform 
movement of our enterprising town, was a fellow by the name 
of Jeff Hosking, a comparatively recent addition to our popu- 
lation, who hailed from Murphy’s Camp. Whether Hos- 
king had an old-time grudge to settle with Poker Jim, no 
one ever knew, but it was afterward rumored that a feud of 
long standing had existed between them. 

“From whatever cause, however, the gentleman from 
Calaveras County remained conspicuously apart from his 
sociable companions, insolently shaking his head in refusal of 
Jim’s proffered hospitality. To accentuate his discourtesy 
— for such conduct was considered the acme of rudeness in 
our little community — he smiled in a manner that was an 
unpleasant combination of superciliousness and contempt. 

“ The assembled company looked at Jeff in open-mouthed 
astonishment for a few seconds, but Jim affected not to notice 
the implied insult, much to the bewilderment of the rest of 
the party. 


428 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


‘•The situation was, to say the least, embarrassing-, and 
Dixie, with a pardonable desire to smooth thing's over, said — 

“ ‘Wall, Jeff, whut’s ther matter, hev y’u lost yer appe- 
tite fer licker ? ’ 

“ ‘ No sirree, mister Dixie ! ’ replied Hosking-, ‘ but I aint 
drinkin’ with g-amblers jes’ now, ’specially them thet aint on 
ther squar’, an’ some folks thet I knows of, haint improved 
much since they wuz chased outer Murphy’s.’ 

“ ‘Drink your liquor, g-entlemen,’ said Jim, quietly, ‘and 
then we will investig-ate this very interesting affair.’ 

“The liquor having been disposed of, Jim lounged 
leisurely toward his insulter, looked him steadily in the eye 
for a moment and then said — 

“ ‘And some people’s manners have not greatly improved 
since they left Murphy’s. As for my squareness, that’s a 
matter for argument, but one which you are hardly com- 
petent to pass an opinion upon, unless you have changed 
greatly in the last few years. Now, Mr. Hosking, I’m going 
to tell you something that may interest you. 

“ ‘At nine o’clock this morning, I was notified to change 
my location within twenty-four hours. I propose to get away 
from town as quietly and pleasantly as possible. Let me in- 
form you, however, that until nine o’clock sharp to-morrow 
morning, I am a citizen of Jacksonville, and shall stand for 
my rights and self-respect accordingly.’ 

“Emboldened by Jim’s apparent indisposition to begin 
a row, and, like all bullies, mistaking hesitancy for cowardice, 
Hosking replied — 

“‘Y’u make er mighty purty speech, mister man, but 
y’u aint on ther squar’ jes’ the same, an’ I — ’ 

“We never knew what Hosking was going to say — his 
mouth was slapped so quickly that his intentions became a 
matter for conjecture. 

“It was impossible to see exactly what happened next — 
the two men sprang at each other so fiercely. There was a 
short, sharp struggle, a shot from Hosking’s revolver, that 
sped harmlessly over the heads of the crowd, lodging in the 
wall, and Jim, bowie in hand, was bounding toward the open 
door, leaving his insulter lying upon the floor with a clean cut 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


429 


in his chest throug'h which his life was ebbing" awav as fast 
as the escaping- blood could carry it! 

“As Jim ran, some one in the crowd fired a shot after 
him! Everybody rushed to the door, but Jim was in the 
saddle and away, amid a shower of pistol balls, which, much 
to my relief, apparently flew wild of their mark! 

“I was so interested in the safety of the fug-itive that I 
forg-ot poor Jeff, and, with a pang- of remorse, I hastened back 
to his side, only to find that Poker Jim’s work had been too 
skillful for any surg-eon to undo — the man was dead!” 


“With the killing- of Hosking-, well deserved though it 
may have been. Poker Jim’s popularity was a thing of the 
past. While under the ban of public sentiment, he had killed 
a reputable citizen of Jacksonville in a quarrel — he was now 
an outlaw, upon whose head a price was set. 

“But he was not to be caught. 

“ No one supposed that Jim would be mad enough to ven- 
ture near his cabin, even to see his wife and child, yet the 
citizens set a watch over the place as a matter of ordinary 
precaution, and for the purpose of learning her destination 
whenever his wife should undertake to follow and join her 
husband. I, meanwhile, saw that Jim’s family wanted for 
nothing, a duty in which the sentiment of the town duly sup- 
ported me, for, rude as they were, our people were tender- 
hearted to a fault. With uncouth yet delicate discernment, 
the boys kept away from the little cabin, hence no visitor but 
myself ever crossed the threshold. 

“Toppy’s description of Jim’s wife had not been over- 
drawn — she was indeed beautiful, and as charming a woman 
as I have ever met. She was plucky too — she was apparently 
not at all uneasy about her husband, and seemed to have per- 
fect confidence in his ability to take care of himself. The 
child, a little boy, resembled his father, and was such a sweet, 
pretty little thing that I fell quite in love with him. The little 
one in some vague manner recalled a little curly-headed boy 
baby that I used to tote about when I was a lad, and whom I 
thought the cutest little brother that a boy ever had. I re- 
solved that Jim’s family should not want a friend as long as I 


430 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


could care for them. Toppy’s loyalty I well knew, and I was 
therefore sure of being* ably seconded on his return from 
Stockton. 

“But our towns-people were soon to have more import- 
ant matters to think about, than the capture of Poker- Jim.” 


“The latter part of the winter of 1860, and the early 
spring- of 1861, will never be forg-otten by the inhabitants of 
the Tuolumne valley — I certainly have reason to remember 
it as long- as I may live. 

“As I have already intimated, the spring- freshets of the 
California valleys were a matter of yearly experience. The 
inhabitants had become accustomed to them and had usually 
been able to escape serious disaster, but they had not yet 
realized what the elements could do at their worst. 

“The winter had been a hard one, there had been an 
excessive rainfall, and reports from the mountain towns 
showed a g-reater amount of snow than had ever before been 
experienced in that reg-ion. When the mountain snows 
beg-an to melt therefore, and the terrific storms character- 
istic of the breaking- up of the winter season came on, a 
volume of water began pouring down into the valleys, which 
was as alarming as it was unprecedented. 

“We had heard vague rumors of serious trouble in the 
valleys of the Sacramento and San Joaquin, and as the Tuo- 
lumne had risen to a point hitherto unheard of, the oldest 
settlers became somewhat uneasy. 

“Fearing lest the Tuolumne — which was fast becoming 
a raging torrent — might eventually become impassable, I saw 
that ‘ Mrs. Jim,’ as I used to call her, was well supplied with 
necessaries. I knew that the water rise would be of but 
short duration — for so tradition had it — hence I was not un- 
easy about my interesting charges. 

“The river had finally risen to a point nearly two feet 
beyond the highest water mark ever known; it then began to 
subside and we felt much easier — the end was apparently in 
sight. But we deceived ourselves most thoroughly. 

“The people of Jacksonville, congratulating themselves 
on the beginning of the end of the g:reatest freshet ever 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


431 


known, retired one nig-ht to sleep in fancied security, only to 
be rudely awakened early- the following morning by the 
surging of the water of the Tuolumne against the very beds 
on which they slept. The river was seeking its revenge — a 
revenge that was soon to be fully accomplished. 

“Within twenty-four hours there was but one safe point 
in the entire town — the high ground upon which stood the 
Tuolumne House. Practically every other building in town 
was washed away. One sturdy miner upon whom fortune 
had smiled, had built himself a pretty little cottage, which he 
determined to save. He passed a cable through a door and 
window at the corner of the house, and guyed it to a huge 
tree upon a hill opposite. The cottage swung about at the 
end of the rope until the waters subsided, when the trium- 
phant miner anchored it in a new location, this time on higher 
ground — the original site of his home having gently slipped 
into the river. But Nelson was an exception; his brother 
miners were not so fortunate. 

“The hotel was overflowing, and tents were at a pre- 
mium. Mining was a forgotten industry. The chief occu- 
pation of the citizens was counting noses to see who was 
missing, and fishing up such articles of value as they could, 
from amid the debris of the flood. For entertainment, they 
counted the buildings and studied the wreckage that the 
waters brought down from the towns and camps higher up 
the valley. An occasional corpse was seen floating along 
among the flotsam and jetsam carried past by the raging 
river — a ghastly reminder of the seriousness of the situation. 

“Almost directly opposite the Tuolumne House was a 
dam in the river. There were times during the dry season 
when the Tuolumne was so low that one could walk across 
it via the dam. Now, however, it was a small Niagara. It 
was interesting, as well as harrowing, to watch the destruc- 
tion of the buildings as they toppled over the brink and were 
broken up. Occasionally a house, larger than the rest, would 
lodge at the dam for some time before going over. At one 
point quite a mass of debris had collected and bade fair to 
remain indefinitely blocked up against a projecting part of 
the dam. 


432 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Just beyond the farther end of the dam I could see 
Toppy’s little cabin, gleaming- white and clearly cut against 
the dark green background of the hillside whereon it stood, far 
out of the way of all possible danger from the rising waters. 

“A group of our citizens was standing on safe ground 
near the hotel, quietly discussing the apparently hopeless 
misery and total destruction that had befallen our industrious 
little town, when our attention was attracted by a house, 
larger than any we had yet seen, which came drifting rapidly 
down the middle of the stream in full view. 

“As the house came nearer, Dixie called out — 

“ * By G — , boys ! thar’s a man in ther winder ! ’ 

“And so there was, and a badly frightened one at that! 
As he came well within sight, he could be seen waving a gar- 
ment of some kind in wild and emphatic signals of distress. 
His voice could soon be heard, calling for assistance in a 
series of wild yells that would have done credit to an Indian 
war-dance. 

“ There was great excitement among my fellow citizens 
for a few moments, and groans of despair at our inability to 
rescue the stranger were plentiful, when suddenly some one 
in the crowd yelled — 

“ ‘It’s er d — d Chinaman, ez sure ez shootin’! 

“And so it proved to be. — 

“I trust that the philanthropy of my fellow townsmen 
will not be underestimated, if I frankly state that an unmis- 
takable sigh of relief went up from the crowd when it was 
discovered that the poor devil whose fate it had just been 
bewailing, was a despised Mongolian. 

“ The nationality of the hapless passenger in the floating 
house and the hopelessness of an attempt at rescue, even 
had our citizens been so disposed, served to silence the 
spectators of the Chinaman’s fate. In justice to my old 
friends, I will state that I have never doubted that an effort 
to save the hapless Mongolian would have been made, had 
any means of rescue been at hand. Not a boat was left in 
town, and even had there been a hundred at our disposal, it 
looked like certain death to attempt to traverse the terrific 
torrent that confronted us. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


433 


“The Chinaman was clearly doomed, and the end was 
only a question of minutes, a fact which the poor fellow him- 
self appreciated even more keenly than we did, as was shown 
by the renewed vig'or of his frantic cries for assistance, as he 
caught sight of the dam that his strange craft was so rapidly 
nearing. 

“But, as Big Brown was wont to say, ‘nobody hez sich 
good luck ez er fool, ’ceptin’ er d — d Chinaman.’ The house 
in which the luckless voyager was making his unwilling and 
terrible journey, caught upon the debris that had accumu- 
lated near the center of the dam! Here it remained poised 
for an instant, almost upon the very verge of destruction, 
then swinging squarely about in the swiftly-rushing current, 
it lodged broad-side to, in such a manner that it came to a full 
stop and remained motionless. 

“The unfortunate Chinaman now redoubled his pitiful 
cries for assistance, and the crowd, in silent awe, awaited the 
giving way of the temporary obstruction and the inevitable 
destruction of the house and its unhappy tenant. 

“A moment later, and a man was seen to emerge from 
some scrub pines near the water’s edge upon the opposite 
side of the river, just below Toppy’s cabin. He was drag- 
ging a small boat, that had evidently been concealed among 
the trees. 

“ The man pushed his little craft into the swiftly-running 
water, sprang in, and pulled boldly away from the bank 1 As 
he did so, he stood upright for a moment and turned his 
features squarely towards us. Even at that distance, there 
was no mistaking that magnificent physique and fearless 
bearing! 

“ ‘It’s Poker Jim, by G — !’ cried a number of men simul- 
taneously. Almost automatically, several among the crowd 
drew their pistols and fired at the far-distant figure — a use- 
less feat of bravery, as their target was probably beyond 
rifle-shot, to say nothing of trying to hit a man at that dis- 
tance with a six-shooter. 

“ ‘Hold on, boys!’ cried Big Brown, in astonishment, ‘Ef 
he aint goin’ arter thet d — d Chinee I’ll eat my hat! Wall, I’ll 
be kerflummuxed! ef thet don’t beat h — 1!’ 


434 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Now, if there was anything- the early settlers of the 
dig-gings worshipped, it was reckless, fool-hardy bravery. 
From that moment Jim was a hero, a Bayard, sans ^ciir et 
^ sans reproche^ before whose chiv- 

alry every man who saw his cou- 
rageous act was ready to bow to 
the very earth. 




A MODERN BAYARD. 


“The crowd silently 
watched Jim for a moment, 
and then broke out in a cho- 
rus of ‘bravos!’ and hand 
clappings, which, although 
they impressed the object of their admiration not at all- 
even if he noticed them, which is doubtful — expressed in 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


435 


unmistakable language a change in the sentiment of our 
towns-people toward him whom they had so recently out- 
lawed. 

“The first burst of applause over with, we watched the 
hero in almost breathless anxiety, as he skillfully directed 
his little boat toward the house, the Chinaman meanwhile 
having stopped his yelling, in anticipation of the approach of 
his rescuer. 

“Whether Jim had intended to bring up against the 
side of the house that lay up-stream, as seemed wisest, 
would be difficult to say ; if such was his intention however, 
he certainly miscalculated, for his boat disappeared behind 
the end of the house which was farthest away from us. 

“The rest of the tragedy we could not see, for we had 
hardly lost sight of Jim, before the obstructing debris gave 
w’ay and the house shot over the dam, sweeping everything 
before it! 

“ So died a hero! 

“A searching party went out a short time afterward, 
and, at great risk, found and secured the body of Poker Jim, 
battered and bruised, but still classically handsome and 
debonair, even in death. As the boys were sorrowfully 
returning to town with the body of the man whom a few 
hours before they had tried to kill, they spied upon a mass of 
wreckage that had lodged in a partially submerged tree-top 
a few feet from shore, a badly frightened but still yelling 
individual, at the sight of whom Big Brown almost col- 
lapsed — 

“ It was the Chinaman ! ” 


“ Early the next morning, a cortege composed of every 
citizen who was able to walk, climbed slowly and sorrowfully 
up the road leading to the little cemetery, just back of town. 
At the head of the solemn procession were six stout miners, 
hat in hand, bearing upon a rude stretcher the body of Poker 
Jim. Just behind the body another party was carrying a 
rough coffin, composed of pieces of wreckage, hastily thrown 
together. 


436 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“By no means the least sorrowful feature of the funeral 
was the fact that we had no means of communication with the 
dead man’s wife, nor did we indeed, even know whether she 
had witnessed his death or not. 

“The cemetery reached, and the body having- been laid 
in the clumsy coffin that was placed beside the g-rave which 
the kind-hearted miners had already dug-, there was an em- 
barrassing- pause — 

“I had been asked to say a few words, in lieu of a clerg-y- 
man, and had ag-reed to do so, upon the condition that some 
one else be selected to say something- in behalf of the mining- 
population proper. Dixie was the man who was selected to 
co-operate with me, but was evidently waiting- for me to g-ive 
him his cue, so I opened the service as well as I could. 

“For some unaccountable reason I could hardly find voice 
to say a word. I finally, however, manag-ed to g-ive a brief 
eulog-y of the dead man, revolving- chiefly around the incident 
that happened in the San Francisco g-ambling--house on the 
occasion when I met Jim for the first time. My remarks 
were received with a running- fire of muttered eulog-ies of the 
deceased hero, which were as sincere as they were ineleg-ant. 

“ Dixie now mustered up the necessary courag-e, mounted 
a stump and began: 

“‘Feller citizens, we air hyar ter do a solemn dooty. 
One uv our mos’ prom ’nent an’ respected citizens is lyin’ hyar 
dead, an’ we, ez his fren’s, air hyar ter give him ergood send- 
off. Poker Jim hez passed in his checks; he hez cashed in 
fer ther las’ time, an’ ther aint nobody hyar whut’ll say thet 
his las’ deal wuzn’t er squar’ one. Sum mout say ez how Jim 
wuz er d — d fool, ter play sich er dead-open-an’-shet game, 
with er d — d wuthless Chinaman fer stakes, but, my feller 
citizens, Jim cut ther cards on ther squar’, an’ he died ez 
squar’ ez enny man thet ever stepped in shoe-leather. 

“ ‘ An’ Jim died game, an’ with his boots on. He wuzn’t 
no white-livered coyote, Jim wuzn’t. Ef thar wuz enny yaller 
streaks in him, w’y, nobody ever knowed it. He wuz er sandy 
man frum way up ther creek, y’u bet! 

“ ‘I wisht we knowed whut Jim’s States’ name wuz, but 
thar aint nobody hyar ter tell us, an’ ez we hev alius knowed 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


437 


him ez Poker Jim, w’y, thet’s ther name we’ll bury him by. 
It wuz good ’nuff fer him livin’, an’ it’s good ’nuff fer us, now 
thet he’s dead. 

'“I aint no speechifier, ez y’u all know, an’ Doc, hyar, 
hez done ther hansum by Jim in thet line, so I aint goin’ ter 
spoil er good thing, but I’m jes’ goin’ ter say one thing, an’ 
say et plain. We all made er mistake on ther deceased. He 
mout hev been er gambler — I don’t say he wuzn’t — but, my 
fren’s. Poker Jim wuz er gentleman, an’ he died like one, 
d—def he didn’t!”’ 

“ ‘Within a few days the flood had subsided sufficiently 
to warrant an attempt at crossing the river. Having suc- 
ceeded in procuring a large boat from one of the neighboring 
river towns, a party of vis went over to Toppy’s cabin in 
quest of Jim’s family. 

“There had been no sign of life about the place since 
the day of Jim’s death, hence I was not surprised to find the 
cabin empty. Not a trace of the dead man’s wife and child 
could be found ! Nor were they ever heard of again. Whether 
the poor little woman had witnessed the disaster that made 
her a widow, and the raging Tuolumne had received the sor- 
rowing, despairing, desperate mother and her innocent child, 
we never knew. I have always entertained a vague hope that 
Jim had already conveyed them to a place of safety when he 
met his death. 

“As our party was searching about the cabin for clews 
to the disappearance of Jim’s family, Big Brown found upon 
a shelf in the little cupboard where Toppy’s rather primitive 
supply of dishes was kept, a letter, carefully sealed, and 
addressed to me. He handed me the letter, and I fancied 
his voice trembled a little as he said — 

“ ‘Wall, Doc, Jim never f ergot his fren’s. I don’t know 
whut Toppy ’ll say when he gits back ter town.’ 

‘“Poor Toppy!’ I said, Tt will grieve him sorely, when 
he learns that the gallant Jim is gone forever.’ 

“A few days later, a white head-board, rather more pre- 
tentious than was the prevailing fashion in Jacksonville, was 


438 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


erected at Jim’s grave. I was consulted regarding an epitaph, 
but could find no fault with the rudely carved inscription 
suggested by Dixie — 

‘HERE LIES THE BODY 
OF 

POKER JIM— GENTLEMAN.’” 

The doctor removed his spectacles, and, as he wiped 
them upon his handkerchief, I fancied that his eyes were 
suspiciously humid. — 

“But what about the letter that was found in Toppy’s 
cabin ? ” I asked. “It was, of course, written by Poker Jim. — 
Did he reveal his real name?” 

“My boy, ’’said the doctor softly^ “the letter was signed, 
‘James Weymouth.’ ” 

“Then Poker Jim was — ?” 

“Little Jim!” 

“ Well, young man, examination time is approaching, and 
it will not do to keep you from your much needed rest in this 
outrageous fashion. 

“Good night, lad, good night.” 



THE PASSING OF MAJOR MERRIWETHER, 


I. 


H, brother of the lamp and pen — 
Thou who canst not say of 
fame, Tis won ! ” 

True happiness is ever thine, 
and when 

Thy work before thee lies — 
well done, 

What more, oh faithful one, 
couldst ask the world 
To do for thee, than leave to 
read thine own ? 

Thy creations to thine eye unfurled 

Are fair, tho* hard and cold as heartless stone, 

The critic — with lip all sneering curled 
In proud and calm disdain of thee, oh slave ! 

He'll hear thee not, till thou art in thy grave I 
So, brother, read thine own, and laugh, and joke, 

And veil ambition in this fragrant smoke, 





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THE PASSING OF MAJOR MERRIWETHER 


I. 



’HEN I arrived at Doctor 
Weymouth’s house, he 
was at dinner. He had been 
detained quite late by his 
calls, and, as he expressed it, 
was now assiduously attend- 
ing to his most exacting pa- 
tient, his stomach. Pete announced 
my arrival, and returned with the 
message that his master wished to 
see me in the dining-room. I found the doctor eating his 
repast in solitude. 

“Ah! good evening, sir,” he said, “I am more than glad 
to see you. Mrs. Weymouth went to a ladies’ reception this 
afternoon and has not yet returned, consequently, I was 
beginning to be a bit lonesome. Will you not join me? — I 
have but just commenced my dinner.” 

“I thank you, doctor,” I replied, “but I have just arisen 
from the table myself, and could not possibly do your 
hospitable board full justice.” 

“Oh, well,” said the doctor, “you will at least partake of 
a cup of coffee — there’s always room for that, you know. 
Besides, I want you to keep me company for my digestion’s 
sake. And, by the w^ay, I haven’t had time to glance at the 
evening paper yet — would you mind looking it over and read- 
ing anything that seems interesting?” 

“ Why, I should be glad to do so, sir,” I replied. 

After scanning the headlines for a moment,! turned to 
the editorial page and said, “Well, doctor, I don’t see much 


444 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


in the news columns that I would consider interesting*, but 
here are several editorials which seem rather sug-g'estive. ” 

“Ah, indeed!” said my friend. “Pray read them.” 

I then began reading an article on the suicide problem, in 
which the suicide was stigmatized in unmeasured terms as a 
coward. Doctor Weymouth interrupted me with — 

“That is enough of that, my boy. The editor is singing 
the same old song upon a subject he knows very little about. 
I presume there are some persons who commit suicide be- 
cause they had rather face future unknown terrors than the 
tangible and more realistic horrors of the present. Perhaps 
such persons are cowards, but I cannot see it, for, after all, 
they simply choose between two evils, to face either of which 
requires bravery. Again, admitting that many suicides are 
cowards, they are not all of the unfortunates, for among 
them will be found lunatics, fools, heroes and^ — philosophers. 
You smile at the word ‘philosophers,’ but history bears me 
out. 

“ There is a serious question in my mind, as to whether 
some cases of suicide are not manifestations of individual and 
personal right that are perfectly just, fair and logical, I pro- 
test against any law, civil or religious, that says to the incur- 
able sufferer whose agonies are not to be alleviated by human 
skill, ‘ Thou shalt not go out, and if thou dost, thou shalt be 
forever damned.’ We are not very kind to incurable, suffer- 
ing humanity — shall it not be kind to itself if it so elects ? — 
Shall it not have the privilege of choosing the lesser evil? 
— Shall man not say, when in hopeless agony, ‘ I can and will 
sleep?’ — Did not Epictetus — wise old philosopher — say, ‘The 
door is open?’ — And who shall gainsay our individual right 
to pass out?” 

“ Well, my dear doctor, I confess that I have never looked 
at it in that way, you know the divine command was — ” 

“ Pish ! tush ! There you go, in the same old rut! The 
scriptures contain many so-called ‘ divine commands ’ that 
everybody knows were cruel and which are very much out of 
date. Is it not possible that our views of the suicide question 
also require modification? Why, it is really a pity that there 
could not be a public chloroforming committee, to relieve some 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


445 


people of their ag-onies. Wait, my lad, until you have seen as 
much human suffering" as I have, and you will realize that we 
are kinder to the brute creation than to humanity. 

“But what of the suicide clubs?’’ I asked. 

“Pah! Such people make me sick!” said the doctor, 
contemptuously. “The idiots who constitute their member- 
ship oug'ht to be put in the care of some asylum for the 
feeble-minded.” 

“An absurd feature of such editorials as the one you 
have just read,” continued the doctor, “is the fact that the 
newspapers themselves are responsible for a larg-e propor- 
tion of suicides. Certain individuals receive the sug’g’estion 
that impels them to the act, and learn various methods of its 
performance, by reading- the blood-curdling-, sensational ac- 
counts of suicides in the daily press. The same is true of 
various forms of vice and crime. Of course, the public is 
ultimately responsible, for the newspapers are in duty bound 
to g-ive it what it demands.” 

“Hallo!” I said, “here is a comment on that bung-ling 
execution that occurred in St. Louis the other day.” 

“Read it,” said the doctor. 

“Just as I thought,” said he, when I had finished. “The 
editor grows maudlin over the bungle that was made, but 
says not one word against the system. Just think of it, boy — 
that man was fumbled about for over forty minutes, before 
they succeeded in getting the old noose off and a new one on! 
Forty minutes of agony — and then the legalized thugs strung 
their victim up again! Ye gods! And this is the end of the 
nineteenth century! Must we always follow the Mosaic law? 
If we must, for heaven’s sake let’s do it under chloroform ! 

“Why do I object to capital punishment? Well, sir, 
even when properly performed, it is a relic of barbarism — it 
is a blot upon modern civilization. It necessitates the taking 
of human life by somebody, and whether this be done legally 
or not, it is enough to horrify intelligent humanity. It bru- 
talizes society, and lessens, rather than increases, respect 
for human life. It has been a signal failure as a deterrent of 
crime — as have all methods of ‘punishment.’ This is shown 
by the fact that crime is alarmingly on the increase. The 


446 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


proportion of murders has not decreased in social systems 
in which capital punishment prevails, nor has it increased 
where executions have been abolished; on the contrary, the 
latter have made a very favorable showing-. Last, but not 
least, capital punishment does not punish — it is followed by 
forg-etfulness, especially by the one who is supposed to be 
most impressed by it. 

“ The best criticism that was ever passed on capital pun- 
ishment, was fathered by my friend, Opie Read, in his ‘Arkan- 
sas Hang-ing-.’ The darky who described the execution said 
— ‘Dey done led dat man up dar on dat flatform, dey did, jes’ 
like he wuz some po’ ole dawg-, dat dey wuz g-wine fo’ ter kill 
cayse he done g-ot too ole. An’ den Marse Sheriff done read 
er g-re’t long- paper ter dat man! Now, Marse John, whut de 
debb’l did dey want ter read dat paper ter dat man fo’? W’y, 
sah, dey g-wine kill dat man — he wouldn’t know nuffin ’bout 
dat termorrer !’ 

“ Was not that the lig-ht of a simple-minded philosophy 
thrown on a dark subject? That poor neg-ro, like some 
children, was more philosophical than his betters. Well, it 
will not do at present to g-o any farther into that particular 
phase of a subject which has been of life-long- interest to 
me. — 

“ Speaking- of the crime question in g-eneral, there is one 
fact you must not overlook: Society makes its own criminals; 
they are the refuse of the social body. Society takes 
illog-ical methods for correcting- its evil works, however. 
What chance does the waif of the streets have to become a 
respectable citizen? None, sir, none! You look skeptical, 
my lad — I suppose you think me a crank, to thus criticise our 
social system. 

“My self-complacent young- friend, did you ever explore 
our American London — New York City? Do you know any- 
thing from personal observation of ‘Darkest America,’ as it 
exists in all our large cities?— I take it for granted that you 
will answer in the negative, and without further parley will 
proceed to act as your guide, and, mentally at least, depict for 
you a scene that comes back to me, all too vividly, as I saw it 
one summer night many years ago. — 





OVER THE HOOKAH. 


A TASK FOR THE MEMORY. 




448 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“We take a Battery-bound car, and leaving- the brilliantly 
lighted thoroug-h fares and palatial mansions of upper-tendom 
far behind us, we roll along into ‘ Old New York.’ We finally 
alig-ht in a portion of ‘ Lower New York ’ to which, out of 
respect to the mathematical g-eniusof the old Knickerbockers 
who platted it, is applied the euphonious sobriquet of ‘ Tangle- 
town.’ Turning due east, or attempting to do so as nearly as 
maybe, we thread the bewildering maze of gloomy streets 
until we are in the midst of a district known by the still more 
graceful and characterivStic title of ‘Hell-town.’ Here, the 
haunts of depravity and disease are found in their highest 
state of cultivation^ — here is the soil in which the gardeners 
of vice force to quick and full development the upas trees of 
immorality, disease and crime. 

“We turn into a narrow thoroughfare that seems 
livelier and more brilliantly lighted than its fellows. It is 
hardly a lane; it is certainly a burlesque on a street, and 
would disparage the fair fame of an alley. If Whitechapel 
has worse thoroughfares, it needed no Jack the Ripper to 
make it notorious. Murder most foul could scarcely accentu- 
ate its malodorous qualities. 

“Look at the character of the buildings — low, tumble- 
down and dilapidated, most of them, yet they rent well, and 
in some instances bring in a princely revenue to their not 
over-scrupulous owners — who, be it remarked, dwell in more 
fashionable localities. 

“On the first floor of the one on the right, is a cheap 
grocery with a bar in the rear, where liquid murder, concen- 
trated insanity and the quintessence of crime and disease are 
retailed at prices that would bankrupt a dealer in fusel oil. 
This description will fit half the buildings on the street. 
Every other rum-shop is a cheap variety and dance hall, from 
which a flood of discordant and harshly vibrating ‘ music ’ — 
save the mark — is ever pouring forth and mingling with the 
ruder yet more tolerable sounds of the streets. Now and 
again a bloated, bleary and besotted wretch — male or female, 
staggers forth from these dens of vice, and is lost to view 
among the motley denizens of the quarter, who have crowded 
upon the street this warm summer evening, in the delusive 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


449 


hope of g’etting' a breath of air — something* that is denied 
them in the miserable tenements of iniquity I have described. 

“How they swarm, and how dirty they are! Look at 
the faces in that g-roup at the corner of the alley ! — Stay, one 
of the worst of the lot is approaching* us ! Not a comforting* 
observation, truly. — Just as we are considering* the advisa- 
bility of g*iving* ‘leg bail,’ the tough calls out, ‘Hello, Doc!’ 
As I gaze at him, bewildered, he says — ‘ Don’t ye remember 
Bill Harper, who was doin’ time at the Island and was orderly 
in the hospital?’ The recognition of a grateful patient— 
chiefly found in prisons, by the way, and rarely seen running 
at large or in great numbers — makes me feel much better. 
In fact, I have rarely been more pleased at finding a friend in 
need. To my great satisfaction, Bill offers to help us ‘ do 
the street,’ and, under his guidance and protection — for he 
seems to be a king in this environment^ — we not only do the 
street, but see more of the slums than we might have seen in 
all our natural lives under any other leadership. 

“‘It’s better to go with me,’ he said, ‘there’s nary a 
copper down here; they say there’s chills and fever here- 
abouts, and I reckon it is unhealthy — for coppers.’ 

“And what sights we see! — Dirty, unkempt and brutal 
masculinity — slatternly women, with here and there a pitiful 
attempt at finery and gewgaws, that herald all too plainly the 
calling of the wearer, though a sign is unnecessary where 
open solicitation is fashionable. 

“ Sitting on the curbstone, or playing about in the gutters, 
are filthy children, looking more like gnomes of the hills than 
infants — if, indeed, filth and squalor can be so picturesque. 
The sight of these woe-begone little creatures, toddling, 
swearing and fighting about among the feet of their dis- 
reputable elders — these children of all ages, both sexes, and 
varying degrees of misery, is a lesson that moralistic cranks 
and alleged reformers might do well to study. Dirty, vile, and 
prematurely aged, exposed to both the contagion and example 
of immorality, these children may well be pitied. Some one 
has said that the children of the very poor and miserable are 
never young — that they are born old— lo! also, such as these 
are never innocent. — 


450 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“How the denizens of this hell-hole reek, and swarm, and 
how vile they are! Look at the faces of that g-roup on yonder 
corner! — Is it necessary to call attention to the moral turpi- 
tude and brutish cunning- depicted in those faces? — If facial 
expression g-oes for anything-, robbery is a duty, and murder 
a pastime with these people — whenever the hope of reward is 



in any deg-ree commensurate with the danger incurred. What 
wonder, for is not this district a breeder of, and a school for 
criminals, both in one? 

“Here and there, along the lane of abominations, the 
gilded balls of the pawn shop indicate the ‘ fence ’ — a sine qua 
non in this locality. Passing in and out of these accessories 
of crime may be seen a few poor devils who are bartering for 
the price of a gill or two of rum, the spoils they have risked 
their lives and liberty to obtain. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


451 


“Standing- out in bold relief from the sombre shade of 
the adjoining- building-s, may be seen several more pretentious 
structures, painted in a sarcastic symphony of white, with 
those everlasting- g-reen blinds— so peculiarly and sug-g-est- 
ively ajar. Alas! for the wrong-s of white paint! Their 
cleanly exterior is no criterion of their tenants, for here 
dwell the lowest g-rade of the unclean harpies of the g-reat 
metropolis. Poor unfortunate breeders of disease and vice! 
Who shall judg-e thee? As Booth so appropriately says — 
‘How many there are, who would have been very different 
had their surrounding-s been otherwise.’ 

“ Charles King-sley puts this very bluntly when he makes 
the Poacher’s widow say, in addressing- the Bad ’Squire — 
who drew back — 

“ ‘ Our daug-hters, with base-born babies, have wandered 
away in their shame — 

“‘If your misses had slept, ’Squire, where ours did, 
they might have done the same.’ 

“ Placed in the same or similar circumstances, how many 
of us would have turned out better than this poor, lapsed, 
sunken multitude? 

“Here is the key-note to the situation: Criminals and 
moral lepers are born in this atmosphere of moral and physi- 
cal rottenness. Here are bred moral and physical typhus, 
here arises the social miasm, the poisonous effluvium that 
taints both blood and morals. 

“ Not very alarming is this atmosphere, however, to yon 
crowd of maudlin sailors. Yet, even they recognize its 
physical dangers, for how many times does the solitary sailor 
come ashore for a ‘lark,’ and never again answ^er the boat- 
swain’s pipe at muster call. They know full well the safety 
of larking in squads — in this locality at least. 

“ Here is the fountain-head of the river of crime and vice. 
Here is the source of that slimy ooze that the preacher and 
moralist rarely penetrates. Here is the field in which Gen. 
Booth, the erstwhile ‘crank, ’has made himself undying fame 
as a philosophical moralist, to the everlasting shame of some 
of the fashionable temples of our grand avenues. 


452 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ Misery, poverty, idleness, drunkenness and disease 
these are the g'randly offensive pillars that support and make 
necessary our reformatory system, yet receive no attention 
from it. 

“Is punishment the remedy for these things? Has 
society the right to permit the existence of such a social 
cesspool, and tax honest and industrious people to stamp out 
its results? Ah, me! What of the logic and philosophy of 
those vv^ho believe that such conditions are to be combatted 
by stamping out their effects? This is treating the sick 
man for his fever but forgetting to wash out some infecting 
sore, which, though covered from sight, ever breeds a new 
and varied supply of putrescence to poison his blood. 

“In spite of all the well-meant but misdirected efforts of 
the churches, and the blatant pretensions of a certain class of 
noisy ‘reformers,’ there is a constant and endless stream 
of thieves, murderers, drunkards, prostitutes, beggars, 
lunatics and hospital patients, issuing from such recruiting 
stations as Hell Town. And there are many of these holes 
of disease and vice. Hell Town is but a type of what may be 
found in every great metropolis. And in the land of the great 
unknowable, the spiritual and moralistic quack shall see an 
endless procession of miserable and hollow-eyed wraiths, 
pointing toward him with accusing and ghastly lingers and 
saying: ‘Thou couldst not cure our souls, because thou hadst 
forgotten our bodies. Shame upon thee, thou canting hypo- 
crite, thou imbecile in philosophy, thou child in logic! — And 
the curse of our children and of our children’s children be 
upon thee and thine forever!’ 

“But the hour is late, so we bid good-bye to our ex- 
convict guide, and wend our weary way homeward. 

“And now, my young friend, what think you of preach- 
ing as a cure for the conditions you have seen? 

“And what of the remedies for the sick man — society? 

“ Clean the locality, clean the people, educate the children, 
and prevent criminals from intermarrying and breeding moral 
imbeciles and physical wrecks. — More soap and water and 
fewer tracts. — Give those who would work, an incentive and 
opportunity for honest labor. —Improve the bodies of the 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


453 



criminal stock by beg’inning- with the child. — Give him healthy 
parents, if you can, to beg-in with. — Do all these thing’s, and 
then — well, preach to him if you must — he may now be able 
to understand you. 

“Why cannot some of our mil- 
lionaires spend a little of their 
wealth in damming- the flood 
of criminality? With all due 


“THOU HADST FORGOTTEN OUR BODIES,’’ 

respect for the mag-nificent universities that some of them 
have endowed, they mig-ht do humanity at large, much more 
good in the manner I suggest. We have millions for foreign 
missions, millions for sectarian universities, millions for 


454 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


armies, millions for churches, millions for prisons and law 
machinery, but nothing* to save the waifs of \the land — 
nothing- to save the criminal from himself.” 

“ Well,” I said, “ to dig-ress somewhat, here is an account 
of one millionaire who knew how to use his money. He g-ave 
his physician an annuity, and at one time a fee of fifty thousand 
dollars. When he died, he left a hundred thousand dollars to 
the doctor, a cool half million to found a medical school, and — ” 
“Great Scott! boy,” exclaimed Doctor Weymouth, ex- 
citedly, “let me see that paper!” 

I handed the paper to him, and after reading- it eag-erly 
for a moment, he said, disg-ustedly — 

“Of course, it had to be a man who was never heard of, 
and who lived in a town that was never on the map! That’s 
the way it always is. But then, newspapers must live, and 
startling- novelties are necessary, even thoug-h they he ‘ faked,’ 
as they say in press parlance.” 

“But I mustn’t talk on irritating subjects to-night. Let 
us repair to the library. I am in a reminiscent frame of 
mind, and the soothing fumes of the hookah will probably 
bring before me more interesting experiences than those we 
have been considering thus far this evening.” 


“Well, sir, are you in a mood for one of my long-winded 
yarns ? 

“Very well, then, you mustn’t cry ^eccavi if the story 
drags a bit. I’m going to give you a character sketch, and I 
never let go of a character till he’s dead and buried — the true 
professional instinct, you know. To carry the professional 
analogy to a point where a medical student can appreciate it, 
I will dig my character up — for he is really dead — and use 
him as the subject for a narrative. The subject, in this 
instance, must be dragged from his musty pigeon-hole in the 
archives of my early professional career in the wild and 
woolly west.” 

“It was early in the ‘sixties,’ while practicing in the 
town of E , in the mountainous mining regions of Cali- 

fornia, that I first met the hero of this sketch. I had drifted 
into that part of the state just after the war of the Rebellion 


ovp:r the hookah. 


455 


broke out, having" left the lower country as soon after my 
brother’s death as I could make the necessary arrang’ements. 
There being" nothing" to attract me to ‘ the States ’ and the 
little mining" town of Jacksonville having" become absolutely 
unendurable to me, I resolved to g"o to some part of the 
country that civilization had not yet demoralized into that 
peculiar condition so characteristic of frontier towns, in their 

early strug- 
gles to be- 
come centers 
of culture 
and refine- 
ment. As 
you may per- 
ceive, I still 
love the wild, 
adventurous 
and uncon- 
vent i onal 
freedom of 
the mining 
camps. I not 
only liked the 
peculiar en- 
viron m e n t 
afforded by 
those rough- 
a n d-r e a dy 
settlements, 
but I loved 
the people, 
with their 

devil-may-care, here-to-day and there- to-morrow spirit, their 
brawny-handed, honest industry and hair-triggered ethics. 
The polish and refinement of civilization are often developed 
at the expense of manliness and rugged honesty. The rough 
miners whom I knew^ in the early days of my professional 
life, were as loyal as they were unpretentious, and my 
thoughts revert to them with the kindliest feeling. 



456 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“I do not know why I happened to select the town of 

E for my new location, but I presume that it was because 

the place seemed to be more nearly my ideal of primitive life 
than any other part of California. Be that as it may, I found 
myself one fine day, with what few books, instruments, 
surg-ical dressing’s and drug’s I could g’et tog’ether, snug’ly 
quartered in a pine shanty near the ‘postofi&ce’ of E . 

“ I can assure you that my stock of drug’s was never very 
larg’e, but I afterwards concluded that it was love’s labor lost 

to bring them to E . I don’t believe I could have used 

a half pound of quinine or a gross of compound cathartic pills 
in that town in a decade. In justice to my discriminative 
faculties as exhibited in the selection of a location, however, 
it is only fair to state, that while I was long on drugs I was 
continually short on surgical dressings. Whenever I think 
of my experience in that little town, I feel quite superior to 
most of the army surgeons whom I have met. I had a larger 
variety of cases of — asking the pardon of my old neighbors 
and patrons — lead poisoning in the concrete, than have been 
recorded in the surgical history of the war. 

“As you might imagine, I met with many quaint and 
interesting characters, during my experience in that little 
mountain town. Some of them were sui generis^ but the most 
unique individual of all — and indeed, the most unique I have 
ever met — was Major Merriwether. 

“I first became acquainted with the Major in the bai*- 
room of the ‘Miner’s Rest,’ a ramshackle of a hotel, but the 
best and only hostelry in the place. 

“I had received a ‘hurry-up’ call from the hotel, to attend 
a young ‘greaser’ from the lower country, who had drifted 
into town with a skin-full of ‘aguardiente,’ and who, with 
singular lack of discrimination, had run against one Jerry 
Mapleson — otherwise and more familiarly known as ‘Mapes.’ 

“ Jerry was the best operator in his line that I ever knew, 
and having his lancet — bowie pattern — handy, proceeded to 
evacuate some of the bad blood and worse whisky with which 
the greaser’s hide was distended. 

“The operation was hardly up to Jerry’s best — for he 
was the most distinguished rival I ever had, in that section of 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


457 


the country — but the greaser very nearly went the way of 
many another victim of a ‘ brilliant and successful operation;’ 
he was almost dead from hemorrhag'e when I arrived. 

“ To his credit be it said, Mapes assisted me in dressing- 
the g-reaser’s wound— which narrowly missed the fellow’s 
jug-ular, to say nothing- of some other important thing-s in the 
immediate neig-hborhood. He also slipped a double eag-le in 
my hand at the completion of the operation — he was a frontier 
patron, you know. 

“I fancied, however, that he looked rather sheepish, 
while acting- as my assistant; indeed, when I called his atten- 
tion to the narrow escape of the internal jug-ular and carotid, 
he averted his face. 

“‘Well,’ said I, ‘you know, Jerry, “a miss is as g-ood as 
a mile.” ’ 

“‘Now, see here, Doc,’ said he, ‘don’t rub et inter er 
feller too hard. Y’u’ve kinder g-ot ther bulg-e on me in 
’natomy, an’ ’sides, I wuz drunk, an’ y’u couldn’t cut straig-ht 
yerself, ef yer wuz drunk.’ 

“ Mapes evidently thoug-ht I mig-ht allow my professional 
jealousy to impel me to criticise his operative technique. 
However, I accepted his apolog-y, and restored the entente 
cordiale by acknowledg-ing that I couldn’t do much better 
work than he, drunk or sober. I was a reg-ular practitioner, 
my boy, and it would have been unethical to criticise a pro- 
fessional brother — especially one who handled a knife so 
beautifully. Then, too, Jerry’s consultation business was 
worth a g-reat deal to me — I couldn’t afford to offend him. 

“Having- finished my work, I left my patient lying- com- 
fortably upon a cot in a little room at the rear of the bar- 
room, and was about to leave for my humble ‘office,’ which 
served me as hotel, professional headquarters and operation 
room, all in one — and a small one at that. Mapes, however, 
insisted on my joining him in a ‘night cap.’ I didn’t wear 
one, but concluded to humor him. The memory of that 
throbbing carotid and quivering jugular was still fresh in 
my mind. 

“Standing about the bar were a number of men, who 
were engaged in an animated discussion of the recent pas- 


458 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 



sage at arms. Their conversation was plentifully sprinkled 
with allusions to ‘d — d greasers,’ and such remarks as 

‘Never missed his man 
afore!’ — ‘Mapes must 
ha’ bin full ! ’ — ‘ Does 
Doc think he’ll pull 


“A MISS IS AS GOOD AS A MILE.” 

through?’ — and so on. The situation was so puzzling to 
Jerry’s admirers that a spirited discussion seemed imminent. 

“Just at this moment there appeared at the door com- 
municating with the street, the queerest looking individual I 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


459 


had ever seen in my life. Imagine a man of six-foot-six, per- 
haps fifty years of age, lanky as a lath, but as straight as a 
gun barrel, and with a breast like a pouter pigeon, and you 
have the general appearance of the new-comer. 

“Upon his head was a chapeau, not unlike that which we 
see in the pictures of the first Napoleon. This chapeau was 
the crowning glory of a full military uniform of a German 
officer of cavalry. At his side hung an old fashioned rapier, 
while his belt was garnished with an array of guns that 
made the man look like a walking arsenal. His feet and legs 
were encased in military jack-boots, that were ornamented 
by a pair of huge Mexican spurs, the rowels of which looked 
for all the world like small circular saws. 

“The visage of the man was quite as imposing as his 
raiment. His upper lip was adorned with an enormous, 
bushy, gray mustache, that might — 

‘For a hundred years have bristled and grown, 

Where scissors and razors were quite unknown. ’ 

“The ends of the mustache, as likewise a long goatee 
that ornamented his chin, were waxed to the point of bristling, 
savage defiance. 

“But the most unique feature of this formidable-looking 
personage, was the wonderful array of medals that glittered 
and trembled synchronously with the tumultuous heaving of 
his warlike, manly chest, upon the front of his coat. 

“He was, indeed, a most martial-looking man, even to his 
Roman nose, that stood out from his face iti a strikingly com- 
bative fashion. 

“It seemed to me, however, as I looked at the man more 
carefully, that his eye was a little too fishy, and his com- 
plexion too ashy, to fit the rest of the warrior. I fancied, 
moreover, that there was just a suspicion of the ‘wobbly’ 
about his knees— still, on reflection, I thought I might be 
mistaken, as I knew nothing of his habits, and there is a 
great deal of wobble and lachrymation about western ‘red 
eye.’ 

“Seeing the group of distinguished citizens engaged in 
the peaceful pursuit of acquiring kidney disease and gin- 


460 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


drinker’s liver, the apparition seemed to g'ain confidence, 
and advanced to the center of the room. 

“Striking' a most trag'ic and ‘Where is the villain?’ atti- 
tude, he said, vrith a rich, but, I fancied, an overdrawn 
southern accent, ‘Ah! g-entlemen, I pahceive that yo’ all 
are enjoyin’ yo’ liq’ah in extreme quietude. May I inquiah 
where that d — d g-reasah is? I hope that yo’ all have not 
killed him, an’ thus dahfeated ma rig-hteous ang-ah!’ 

“At these words a large wink appeared to permeate the 
entire assembly, which, as one man, struck an attitude of 
attention and gave the warrior a military salute in the most 
approved style. 

“Mapes having given me the cue to follow him, we now 
joined the party. Saluting .the new-comer as the rest of the 
boys had done, Jerry said — 

“ ‘Good evenin’, Major. I’m glad ter see ye, sir. I’ve bin 
informed thet ye wuz in ther bar-room earlier in th’ evenin’ 
when ther trouble with thet d — d yaller belly beginned. I 
kin assure ye, sir, thet only ther pressin’ necess’ty uv gittin’ 
quick ackshun on me airly in ther game, indooced me ter 
hurry ther thing afore y’u kum back. P’raps et’s lucky fer 
ther greaser, fer Doc, hyar, sez he’ll pull through, an’ I know 
thet ef I’d left him ter y’u, he wouldn’t er bin good fer nuthin’ 
but er pos’-mortem!’ 

“ ‘Ah! ma deah fren’, Mistah Mapleson, it was yo’ chiv- 
alric conduct, then, that dahfeated ma pu’pose, which was to 
return hyah, as soon as I could propahly prepah fo’ the occa- 
sion, suh, an’ slay that ungentlemanly greasah with ma own 
pistol, suh!’ 

“‘But perhaps ’tis bettah so, suh, as I do not like to 
embrue ma ban’s with human goah, so soon aftah ma return 
to ma old haunts, suh. I will tha’fo’ accept yo’ excuses, 
Mistah Mapleson, an’ if yo’ will ask yo’ fren’s to join yo’, 
suh, I would be very glad to have yo’ all drink ma health, suh.’ 

“Everybody crowded up to the bar, and as soon as the 
opportunity offered, Jerry introduced me to the Major. 

“‘Major Merriwether, I’ll make yer ’quainted with Doc 
Weymouth, our new med’cine man, who come hyar whilst y’u 
wuz er doin’ Europe. Doc, this is Major Merriwether, one 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


461 


uv our mos’ prom’nent an’ respected cit’zens, an’ the braves’ 
man in ther hull county, sir!’ 

“ ‘ Ma fren’ Mistah Mapleson, does me too much honah, 
but I’m mo’ than cha’med to meet yo’, suh,’ said the Major, 
as he affectedly grasped my hand. ‘ Ouah town, suh, is a 
paradise fo’ professional men, an’ I have no doubt, suh, that 
yo’ will prove a worthy successah to that distinguished dis- 
ciple of, ah — Esculapius, the late Doctah Prebyl, suh, who 
was shot by Jack Allen, through a little misundahstandin’ 
ovah a lady, suh, an’ I’m suah that yo’ are quite as gallant as 
he was, suh.’ 

“Jerry nudged me at this point, and, taking the hint, I 
very politely expressed my delight at meeting so distin- 
guished a soldier, and assured the Major that it was a 
pleasure to know that I was henceforth to be a member of a 
community in which gallantry and bravery were so highly 

appreciated as in E . I informed him that, while I could 

not hope to emulate either him or my distinguished pre- 
decessor, in the matter of gallantry — especially with the fair 
sex — I could modestly state that I was considered quite 
formidable with certain weapons, and as I only had one 
pair of boots and didn’t care to go into eternity bare-footed, 
I should quite likely die with them on — or words to that 
effect. 

“ After a few more rounds of liquor, the party broke up. 

“As he bade me good-night, the Major again expressed 
the pleasure he had experienced in making my acquaintance. 

“‘I hope, suh, that the acquaintance begun undah such 
extraord’nary circumstances, will continue, to ouah mutual 
benefit, suh. I’m suah that there is always room fo’ brave 
an’ talented men on ma list of fren’s, suh. I hope to enter- 
tain yo’ at an early date at ma own humble lodgin’s. Good 
night, Doctah, an’ suh to yo’. ' 

“Jerry and I were the last to leave the place. I was a 
night owl, and my friend was one of those individuals whose 
peculiar faculties are to be seen at their best after midnight. 
As we strolled leisurely along, down the main street of the 
town toward my modest domicile, I resolved to know more 
of the Major, and feeling certain that Jerry was well posted 


462 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

in that direction, I sugg-ested that he stop at my office and 
chat awhile. 

“ ‘I wish to hear more of the Major, Jerry, and I am 
sure you are not yet ready for bed. You are not used to 
seasonable hours, and, as your professional adviser, I am com- 
pelled to inform you that it would be absolutely dangerous 
for you to suddenly change your habits by retiring thus 
early. I might also remark, that I have recently received a 
demijohn of fine old bourbon whisky from my Kentucky 
home, which I have not yet sampled. Before indulging in 
the luxury of drinking it, I feel that I am in duty bound to 
get your expert opinion upon it.’ 

“ ‘Wall, since ye put et in thet way. Doc, I kain’t refuse 
yer. Kaintucky licker aint picked up ev’ry day, an’ anyhow, 
I like ter ’blige er fren’, et all times.’ 

“In justice to my old friend Mapes, I will confess that 
he did not slight the work involved in sampling my whisky — 
indeed, I have often wondered how he could have been so 
self-sacrificing — and live. 

“We had been seated in my office for at least an hour, 
with our feet cocked up on the old pitch-pine table — which 
served me alike for operating table, book-shelf, gynaecological 
chair and dining-room table, and from which I got my supply 
of whittling material, toothpicks, and pine knots for starting 
the fire o’ mornings — 

“Jerry had bravely started on his tenth round of drinks, 
with myself a close second in the race, and the demijohn of 
whisky ahead of both of us — for I could see it disappearing 
in the dim, shadowy distance. 

“To tell the truth, I had almost forgotten the Major — 
and everything else, for that matter — when Jerry, tiring of 
the old clay pipe that I had handed him on entering my 
shack, laid the smoke-stained veteran down upon the table, 
extracted a plug of ‘nigger-heel’ from some portion of his 
raiment, drew his bowie, cut off a huge ‘chaw,’ surrounded 
the same and began: 

“ ‘ ’Twuz in ther year fifty-eight, er thar ’bouts, thet 
Maje fust struck this kermunity. He hed bin prospectin’ 
down Quartz City way, an’ hed struck hard-pan — which wuz 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


463 


dead easy ter do in thet section, I kin tell ye. The man 
whut staked out Quartz City, bed plenty uv imag'ernashun, but 
d — d little brains in ther pint er hiz pick. 

“ ‘Some uv our boys — I think ’twuz Frisco Bill an’ Bob 
Vandoozer — with er crowd uv th’ up country fellers, wuz 
chasin’ up er boss thief. 

“ ‘ They happened ter g-it side-tracked inter one er them 
canyons, thet’s thicker’n bar tracks down thar, an’ wuz ful- 
lerin’ erlong- whut prov’d ter be er wrong- scent, when, all ter 
wonst, they fetched up in er little valley lyin’ thar ’mong- ther 
hills, clean shet in on all sides, ’cept et ther canyon whar ther 
boys hed come in. Thar ’d bin er purty heavy fall er snow, 
an’ ye kin jes’ bet thet trampin’ wuz’nt enny snap, so ther 
boys ’eluded ter rest er while, an’ g-it er bite uv “ salt horse” 
an’ hard tack an’ some hot coffee. 

“‘Whilst Bob Vandoozer wuz rummag-in’ ’round, tryin’ 
ter g-it ’nuff wood terg-ether fer er fire, he stumbled outer er 
miser’ble little tumble-down cabin, half buried in ther dirt 
an’ rubbish thet hed fell down frum ther hillside up 
erbove et. 

“ ‘ Not thinkin’ uv ther posserbility uv ther cabin hevin’ 
er perpri’tor. Bob went in, an’ mos’ fell over whut he fust 
s’posed ter be ther karkiss uv er man! 

“ ‘He ’mejutly yelled et ther rest er ther boys an’ they 
come rushin’ up ter ’vestig-ate his find. 

“‘Ter the’r s’prise they foun’ on removin’ ther snow- 
kivered blankets thet ther serposed dead man wuz wrapped 
in, thet the’r diskiv’ry wuz erlive — not very much so, et’s 
true, but nev’therless, onmistakerbly erlive. 

“ ‘Hed ther ockerpant uv ther cabin bin undisturbed er 
little while long-er, he wouldn’t hev panned out ’nuff life ter 
pay fer onwrappin’ ’im. 

“ ‘ It wuz plain ter be seed howsomever, thet ther half 
dead man wuz sufferin’ frum er combernashun uvstarvashun 
an’ freeze up. 

“‘Ther boys soon hed er hug-e fire er blazin’, an’ by 
smart rubbin’ an’ g-ivin’ him plenty er red-eye, they fin’lly 
g-ot the’r pashunt ’round. 

“ ‘Skercely hed ther poor devil come ter his senses an’ 


464 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


power uv lokermotion, afore he tottered ter his feet, g-ive ’em 
er mil’tary s’lute an sez — ez ther boys told ther story — 



‘“Ah! g-entleraen, I-I welcome yo’all to ma-ma humble 
abode, an’-an’-an’-I trust yo’ll pahdon me fo’ ma ’parent 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


465 


disco’tesy in failin’ to greet yo’ in the propah mannah — the 
hospitable mannah of the Sou-South. 

‘ “Ma-ma fren’s have depa’ted in su-su-su’ch of-of prov- 
endah, an’ ma supplies have-have run rathah low, suhs, an’ I 
haven’t even a-a-cig’ah to oifahyo’all, suhs, but-but-bu-b” — 

“ ‘ Down he went, inter ther snow, kerslump ! His dig- 
nerty, true south’n horsp’tality, an’ stren’th give out all et 
wonst. Ther strain wuz too much fer ’im, an’ even th’ ole 
red-eye — an’ thet wuz er dead-raiser frum ’way back — 
couldn’t keep ’im on his pins enny longer. 

“ ‘ Like all uv our true westerners, ther boys wuz er kind- 
hearted lot er fellers, an’, ez the’r ruther awk’ard find wuz too 
weak ter mosey, they stayed in ther little valley sev’ral days. 
Luck’ly ther weather sud’nly changed — ez et’s likely ter do 
’mong our mountains — an’ ther sun come out right warm, so 
thet ther sick man got better, purty rapid-like. 

“ ‘ Er few squar’ meals under his vest an’ ther poor chap 
wuz ready ter talk er blue streak, but ther boys stood ’im 
off, till they thort ’twuz safe fer ’im ter spread hisself er 
little. 

“ ‘ When they fin’lly did ’low ’im ter move erbout, an’ 
talk, they took ’count uv stock, ez ’twuz, an’ kinder begun 
sizin’ the’r diskiv’ry up — an’ er mos’ onpromisin’ lookin’ find 
he wuz, y’u bet! He lookt ez ef he wuzn’t wuth workin’, an’ 
didn’t hev a ounce er payin’ rock in ’im.’ 

“ ‘ Er giant in statur’, an’ er pine-tree in build, he lookt 
jes’ like ther handle uv a ole pick, He’d never bin none too 
fat, an’ it’s easy ter ’magine how he lookt after his hard- 
scrabble ’sperience. Dirty, bleery-eyed, an’ tangle-haired— 
he wuz er leetle ther toughes’ lookin’ critter ther boys ever 
seed. 

“ ‘ His name, he sed, expandin’ his chest with his pecool- 
yar dignerty, wuz “ Majah Merriwethah, suh!” He wuz er 
native of “Kaintucky, by gad, suh!” an’ wuz er vet’ran uv 
ther Mexican “wah.” 

‘Et seems thet ther Major hed bin prospectin’ with er 
party uv three Englishers, thet he accident’lly fell in with. 
They hed fin’lly landed in ther little valley whar our boys 
foun’ th’ ole feller. Ther Englishers hed diskivered thet 


466 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


they knowed ez little uv prospectin’ ez they did uv princ’ple, 
an’ hed quit ther camp. 

“ ‘ Ther Major — pore devil — knowed even less ’bout pros- 
pectin’, but he could er give em’ pints on manly princ’ple 
an’ “honah.” In his confidin’ innercence — er ignerance, 
wich ’mounts ter ’bout ther same thing — he jes’ ’lowed them 
fellers ter mosey off on er pertended hunt fer supplies, 
leavin’ him ter keep house. He kep’ house — shore ’nuff — an’ 
thet’s erbout all he did keep. S’posin’ thet his pardners 
would, uv course, come back, he kep’ on er keepin’ house till 
he wuz clean knocked under, when he rolled hisself up in his 
blankets ter nap, till his fren’s got back — ther pore ole sucker! 

“‘He’d er bin nappin’ thar yit, in thet lonely valley, ef 
our boys hedn’t found him, but d’ye know, thet d — d ole fool 
is still er wonderin’ what become of “ma deah fren’s?” 
He is “suah somethin’ se’ious must have happened to them, 
suh,” an’ is still regrettin’ thet they didn’t come back, so thet 
he could “entahtain yo’ all as a Southern gentleman should, 
suhs.” 

“ ‘ Wall, ther boys brought th’ ole Major back ter town 
with ’em, an’ he’s bin one uv our mos’ prom’nent cit’zens ever 
sence. He growed very pop’lar ter wonst, an’ ther very dogs, 
soon larnt ter like th’ ole man. If he’d hed jest er little 
more brains — er even er little less — he’d er bin er shinin’ 
perlitikal success ’fore now.’ 

“‘But,’ I said, ‘your Major has some peculiarities that 
appear to me to be rather dangerous attributes in a town like 
this.’ 

“‘Ha! ha! ha!’ laughed Jerry — ‘He does talk an’ act like 
er fire-eater don’t he? Wall, ye see, ther boys wuz dead onter 
th’ole man ’fore they ever struck town with ’im, an’ ez every- 
body in this hyar town knows ’im, an’ thar’s plenty uv us 
fellers whut brags less an’ shoots more’n ther Major does, 
thet’s dead willin’ ter do his shootin’ fer ’im, strangers don’t 
trouble ’im much. Wonst in er while, one uv ther boys hez 
ter take an “affaih of honah, suh,” off ’n th’ ole Major’s ban’s, 
but not frequent. Still, th’ ole feller hez quite er few lodgers 
in er little proxy graveyard er his’n over yonder, an’ ther 
way he terr’fies er tender foot is er caution!’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 467 

‘“But he really has been a soldier, has he not? Else 
whence comes his martial air?’ I asked. 

“‘Oh, yes, he hez bin er soger, an’ no mistake. We 
lin’lly diskivered thet he wuz er drum-major in er milishy 
reg’ment somewhar er uther. Et seems thet he did ’list in 
ther reg’lar army, but ther perticklers uv his mil’tary k’reer 
hez never been found out. Ye see. Doc, we folks out hyar 
don’t worry our cit’zens much ’bout the’r prevyus hist’ries — 
’twouldn’t do, ye know’ — and Jerry winked knowingly. 

“‘Ter be sure,’ said he, continuing, ‘ther Major’s pe- 
coolyer ways don’t jes’ zackly fit his yarns uv how “we all 
fout the Mexicans ’long with General Scott, suh,” but ez we 
aint no mil’tary men, we don’t zackly know whether he hez 
raaly killed ez many men “to ma own so’d, suh,” ez he claims, 
er not. 

“ ‘ We hev never give ’im er chance ter show his brav’ry 
in his own way but wonst. Ez much ez we love th’ ole man, 
we kaint help playin’ tricks on ’im ’kasionally, an’ I’m most 
ershamed ter say thet I put up er job on ’im wonst myself. 

“ ‘Ye see, ’twuz this way: Ther Major hed hed er lot 
uv whut he b’lieved ter be ha’rbreadth ’scapes frum killin’ 
people, an’ so on, an’ we hed noticed thet he us’ally crawled 
out uv his soshal obligashuns through ther delay w’ich alius 
seemed ter be ness’ary in his prep’rations fer er row. He 
either hed ter go ter ther barber-shop ter git his ha’r cut, 
’coz his head sweated so when he got mad, er ther gun he 
hed, wuz out er order an’ he mus’ go an’ git er bigger one, er 
else his boots pinched him so thet he wuz erfraid his aim ud 
be onstiddy, an’ he mus’ git his “dress boots, suh.” 

“ ‘Sometimes ther Major’s performance wuz varyated by 
— “I haven’t th’ honah of youah ’quaintance, suh, an’ I mus’ 
inquiah as to yo’ social standin’, suh. In casfe I should find it 
satisfactory, suh, I shall be pleased to ’commodate yo’ suh.” 

“‘By ther time ther stack uv condishuns perposed by 
ther Major hed bin fixed up, some feller ’mong his num’rous 
proxies hed us’ally settled ther thing — er got settled hisself. 

“ ‘But th’ ole feller hez alius bin very lib’ral in offerin’ 
ter take his fren’s own little erfairs off’n ther ban’s. P’raps 
ye noticed thet featur’ uv his make up, ternight. Hed ther 


468 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


greaser bin still er standin’ when ther Major got back ter 
ther hotel, I dunno whut would er happen’d. Suthin orful, I 
reckon. Ye see, Maje wuz thar when ther row begun, an’, 
with er reques’ ter ther boys ter keep cool till he come back, 
went home ter git ready fer ther fray.’ 

“‘Well,’ I said, ‘the gallant soldier evidently has great 
confidence in his friends.’ 

“ ‘ Yep,’ said Mapes, musingly, as he fondled the handle 
of his huge bowie — ‘he does understan’ us purty good. 

“‘Wall,’ said my friend, continuing, ‘ther boys fin’lly 
calkerlated ter make ther Major give us er show down. 

“ ‘Ther late Tom Wolcott wuz sheriff et thet time, an’ ez 
quick et er joke ez he wuz on ther trigger. Pore ole Tom, 
we wuz good fren’s until — wall, Tom wuz ready fer ennythin’ 
in ther line uv fun, an’ wuz dead willin’ ter help us put up er 
job on ther Major. 

“‘One mornin’, ez er party of us boys wuz standin’ in 
front uv Bill Hewlett’s place, talkin’ horse, and cock fightin’, 
an’ list’nin’ ter ther Major’s ’count uv his explites in ther 
Mexican war, Tom Wolcott rode up, an’ called out, “Hallo, 
thar. Major! I’d like ter see ye er minnit!” 

‘“Ah, good mo’nin’, Mistah She’iff, I’m pleased to see 
yo’, suh — just one moment, suh!” 

“ ‘ With this, ther Major went on with his modest descrip- 
shun uv one uv his blood curdlin’ adventur’s. 

‘ “As I was sayin’, gentlemen, they came on, shouldah to 
shouldah, as feahce a lot of greasahs as evah yo’ saw! Ma 
fren’ on ma right, an’ ma fren’ on ma left, each fetched his 
man, an’ by gad, suhs! there were Jive cah^casses on the grotin'' 
hefo' yo"' could wink yo'' eye^ suhs ! In less than a qua’tah of a 
minute we all had — ” 

‘“Say, Maje, ye blood-thirsty ole fire eater y’u! Kaint 
y’u stop er wallerin’ in gore, long ’nuff ter talk bizness 
with me?” 

‘“W’y, of co’se, Mistah She’ifi, I’m delighted, suh, but 
these deah boys are soimpo’tunate, suh, that I can nevah give 
them enough of ma modest adventuahs, suh. How can I 
assist yo’, ma gallant fren’?” 

‘“Wall, I’ll tell ye. Major,” sez Tom, “knowin’ yore 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


469 


brav’ry an’ public sperrit, I hev come ter ask ye ter ’sist me 
in er very ’portant dooty. I’m called out uv tovrn, an’ mus’ 
leave et wonst. I hev jes’ got er messidge frum Placerville, 
ter th’ effeck thet thet d — d cutthroat, Comanche Dick, is on 
his way hyar, an’ ’ll prob’bly git hyar this evenin’. Now, I 
want y’u ter take er couple uv yore fren’s, an’ corral thet 
ruffy’an. I sh’d like ter hev ther credit uv capturin’ him 
myself, but I kaint stop, an’ thar’s nobody more deservin’ uv 
th’ honor than yerself, an’ I’m dead sure ther rep’tashun uv 
our town is safe in yore ban’s.” 

Yo’ flattah me, suh,” sed ther Major, drawin’ hisself 
up till he looked like er shot tower, “ but yo’ may be suah yo’ 
reques’ shall be complied with. That d — d ruffian is as good 
as hung, suh ! ” 

“‘Ther sheriff now perceeded ter sw’ar Maje in ez er 
dep’ty, selectin’ Dutch Bill an’ me fer his ’sistants. 

“ ‘ Arter er minoot descripshun uv our man, an’ er few 
partin’ words uv advice, in w’ich we wuz warned not ter let 
ther desp’rader git ther drop on us, but ter kill ’im on ther 
littlest show uv fight, Tom rode erway. 

“ ‘ Night come, an’ with et, ther news thet Comanche 
Dick hed arriv, an’, with his us’al nerve, wuz act’ally playin’ 
poker, down et ther Minerva saloon. 

“‘Ther Major gathered his forces, an’ in single file — 
ther Major bringin’ up ther rear — we “deployed,” es he 
called et, in ther direckshun uv th’ enemy. 

“ ‘Ye jes’ orter hev seed us. Doc! Thar never wuz er 
bloody buckerneer heeled like we wuz! Talk erbout bein’ 
armed ter ther teeth! — W’y, our very toe-nails wuz sharp- 
ened up fer ther perspective scrimmage! 

“‘Dutch Bill an’ me livened up ther way ter ther Minerva 
by ’rangin’ our earthly erffairs in sich er way thet ther one 
uv us whut happen’d ter live, could perform ther ness’ary 
min’strater’s dooties fer th’ estate uv his deceesed pard. We 
alser axed th’ ole Major whut we could do fer him, in thet 
line, but he seemed ter be too bizzy tryin’ ter walk ’thout 
wobblin’, ter listen t’ our fren’ly guff. 

“‘On arrivin’ et ther saloon, we wuz goin’ direckly in, 
but ther Major ’lowed thet, ter be strictly mil’tary, we’d 


470 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


orter rek’niter er little fust, an’ then send in er advance 
g-uard. We tharfore peeked throug-h ther winder, but ’thout 
diskiverin’ our man. 

“ ‘ Ther Major now showed his erthority, an’ ordered 
Dutch Bill inter ther place ez er scoutin’ party. 

“‘Be suah yo’ have him located pufec’ly, suh, so we all 
won’t make a mistake an’ injah the wrong- man, suh!” sez 
Maje, ez Bill went in. 

“‘Bill fin’lly come back, an’ sed thet our man w-uz er 
settin’ et ther furderes’ table. 

‘ “ Ye kaint miss him ! ” sez he. “ He’s er great big cuss 
with er Mexican sombrero on! His mug is jes’ like a Injun’s, 
an’ his ha’r is long an’ black jes’ like ’em ! He’s got two big 
six-shooters er layin’ right in front uv him on ther table ! Ye 
kaint make no mistake, ’coz he’s th’ only feller et thet table 
whut haint got no whiskers ! ” 

‘ “Ah !” sed ther Major, ‘we have him suah, an’ will now 
proceed to effect his captuah. But, bless ma soul! If I 
haven’t come down hyah in ma light boots, an’ ma straw hat! 
An’, come to think gentlemen, I have only ma small derringers 
with me! I -vyill immediately retiah, an’ prepah maself prop- 
ahly fo’ this impo’tant affaih. I want yo’, gentlemen, to entah 
the saloon an’ stan’ close to ouah man. Don’t let him escape, 
an’ above all suhs, don’t do anythin’ to rob me of th’ honah of 
his captuah!” 

“ ‘ Wall, fer wonst ther Major wuz fooled — we waited, an’ 
er good hour et thet. 

“‘When he fin’lly showed up, dressed in er reg’lar ole 
slouch hat, with his pants tucked inter er pa’r uv cowhide 
boots, an’ er couple uv mount’n howitzers slung onter him. 
Bill an’ me, wuz standin’ on both sides uv our fren’ Hank 
Dixon, alias Comanche Dick — ez tough er lookin’ desp’rader 
ez ever scraped his whiskers off, er wore a Injun wig. 

“ ‘ When ther Major come inter ther saloon, he wuz 
par’lyzed, but he hed ter face ther music. Bill an’ me jest 
grabbed er arm uv ther desp’rader while some feller 
snatched erway his guns! 

“‘Come, Major,’ sez I, ‘th’ onner is yore’s — come an’ 
git et!’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


471 


‘ “ Tha-tha- thank yo’, suhs,” sed ther pale-faced, totterin’ 
hero ez he tremblin’ly stumbled to ’ard us. 

“‘Walkin’, er ruther wobblin’, up t’ our pris’ner — who 
wuz er g-larin’ et ther Major like er she painter et bay— our 
brave sojer put one han’ on ther ruffyan’s shoulder, drawed 
er shooter with t’ other an’— fainted dead away! 



A BOLD CAPTURE. 


“ ‘ Comanche Dick got loose, an’ got erway in th’ excite- 
ment — thar wuz nobody in town but ther Major thet could 
deliver ther goods. 

“ ‘Uv course, ther Major hed er windy excuse ready fer 
Tom Wolcott when he got back nex’ day. 

‘ “Sod — d embarrassin’, suh, to have that old wound that 
I received at the battle of Resaca, suh, ovahcome me with one 
of ma old attacks of vertigo, just at the wrong moment, 
suh. If I had only not been compelled to retu’n fo’ ma pistols, 


472 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


suh, I would have fetched ma man befo’ the spell came on me. 
But yo’ mustn’t blame the othah boys, suh, they are dead 
game men — quite as game as masef, suh.” 

“ ‘But there’s one thing that puzzles me, Jerry,’ I said, 
‘ Kentuckians don’t usually have to go and get their hair cut, 
or anything else, before they fight. “Ole Kaintuck” is a 
state where heroes are bred, and while Kentuckians are not 
all fire-eaters, most of them are taught in their early child- 
hood, that running away or hiding behind trees in time of 
danger, are not the accomplishments of a true and spirited 
gentleman. There’s a false note in your Major, somewhere.’ 

“‘Now, see hyar. Doc, don’t fer all ther world serpose 
thet I’m er puttin’ ther pore ole Major up ez er sample uv 
ther Kaintuckian. He hez ther instinks uv er gentleman, an’ 
the top-lofty feelin’s uv er hero — but ther kind ole feller 
hez got er soul like er mouse. 

“ ‘I’m frum Tennessee, myself, an’ ’twixt you an’ me, I 
don’t b’lieve ther state over ther line ever perduced anythin’ 
like ther Major. Ter my notion, he’s er big, chicken-hearted, 
white-livered ole fraud! Howsomever, he’s er kar’kter — an’ 
thet’s er hull lot. 

“ ‘Arter th’ ole Major located ’mong us,’ continued Jerry, 

‘ he hed purty hard scratchin’ fer er while. Ez I hev already 
sed, ther bo3^s tuk er great shine ter th’ ole feller, so thet 
ther staple art’kles ness’ar^^ ter life in this hyar place — ter- 
backer an’ licker — haint never cost ’im nothin’. His brillyunt 
prospec’s — ter be re’lyzed in ther “neah futuah,” hez got ’im 
onlim’ted credit et ther diff ’runt bar-rooms ’bout town. His 
slate, uv course, hez bin taken keer uv purty reg’lar, by sich 
uv ther boys ez happen’d ter be on top fer ther time bein’. 

“ ‘ B\^ er little ’rangement with Pete Waters’ wife — ’twuz 
ter her boardin’ house thet ther Major wuz rek’mended on 
his.errival in town — he hez never been hard up for provender 
— he hez never missed er meal ner paid er red. 

“ ‘Uv course, er gentleman uv ther Major’s standin’, hez 
ter hev spendin’ money, an’ this wuz took keer uv, too. Th’ 
ole man is er fa’r poker player, when he’s on ther squar, 
an’ er holy terror when he’s crooked; so betwixt whut ther 
boys hez lent ’im, er ’lowed ’im ter win, wonst in er while. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


473 


an' whut he hez skinned off frum some tenderfoot er uther, 
frum time ter time, ther Major hez kep’ his soshal persishun 
up ter hig-h-water mark. 



AN IDKAL MINING SITE. 


“ ‘ Durin’ 
his res’dence 
hyar, ther Ma- 
jor hez kep ’on 
er prospect- 
in’, with ’bout 
ther same 
jedg^ment ez 
he use ter hev. 
F e r d o w n - 
rig-ht, blun- 
derin’ imber- 
cility, he is 
ther w u s t 
miner in ther 
hull kentry. 
He’s jes’ ez 
likely ez not, 
ter sink er 
hole in some 
place er other 
jes’ ’coz ther 
g’rass looks 
g-reen an' ther 
flowers is 
purty ’roun’ 
thar. An’ then 
he’ll say, “Ma 
dear suh, we 
should look fo’ 


nachah’s wealth where she showahs her g-if’s in the mos’ 


profusion, suh.” 

“ ‘ But, er fool fer luck ! ” ez a ole sayin hez et. 1 h ole 
Major fin’lly did strike et rich. He never kerried his find 
beyond his prospec’ hole, howsomever— er synderkate boug-ht 


474 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


et uv ’im fer forty thousand dollars, spot cash. Ef th’ ole 
fool hed only held onter it!’ Jerry groaned. — ‘Thet d — d 
synderkate uv blue-bellied Yankees hez made over er million 
out er th’ ole man’s find, an’ haint got th’ ore all out yit — 
more’s ther pity.’ 

“‘I presume that the old man made good use of his 
money,’ I said. ‘Forty thousand dollars, well invested, is 
sometimes as a bird in hand unto two in the bush.’ 

“ ‘Wall, Doc,’ said Jerry, ‘y’u don’t seem ter understan’ 
ther Major’s kar’kter yit.’ 

“ ‘ Th’ ole man hed off’n sed, thet ef ever he struck pay 
dirt, he wuz goin’ ter take er trip ’roun’ ther world, an’ no 
sooner did he git hold uv his money, than he perceeded ter 
graterfy his ambishun. He left us, jes’ six months ergo — 
with fly in’ colors. He got back er few days ergo, after havin’ 
got erway with er mighty small po’tion uv his sirkit uv th’ 
earth. 

“ ‘He came home t’ us clean busted, but ez happy ez er 
clam, an’ with his fire-eatin’ perpensi’ties still onquenched — 
in fack, et seems ter me thet his dignerty is more easy ter 
ruffle than ever. Intermate ’soshiashun with kings an’ 
queens, hez so inflated him thet he’s now with us in ther body 
only— his soul is in ther clouds. 

“‘In spite uv ther serspishun thet his roy’l fren’s wuz 
blood relashuns uv some pot’ntaters thet we hev right hyar 
in town — hull packs uv ’em in fack — we’ve hed er heap er 
fun outer ther Major’s descripshun uv his num’rous ad- 
ventur’s. 

“‘Now, thet y’u hev got erquainted with ther gall’nt 
Major, yer likely ter git yer own ears filled with some uv 
his orful expliteS. 

“‘Et’s easy t’ understan’ whar ther Major’s prospec’ 
money went. He bought more d — d fool things whilst he wuz 
in Europe, than y’u could ’magine ter save yer! His mos’ 
remark’ble “ soov’neers,” ez he called ’em, wuz er lot er 
mil’tary an’ other unerforms. He hez er big colleckshun 
uv all kinds — more’n I s’posed ever wuz wore. 

“ ‘ ’Mong uther things whut he brought back with ’im, 
wuz er ’sortment uv medals, wich, ercordin’ ter his ’count. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


475 


wuz persented to ’im by varyous mighty pot’ntaters, frum 
ther Zar uv Rooshia to ther Pasha w uv Egyp’. Ter be sure, 
et would er took er life-time er travellin’, ter gether up all er 
thet thar stuff in ther way uv soger cloze an’ dek’rashuns, 
but nuthin’ is onposserble t’ our gall’nt Major, whose 
’maginashun travels in seven-league boots, even ef he didn’t. 

‘“Wall, Doc, I hev given ye ther Major’s hist’ry an’ 
strikin’ pecoolyar’ties up ter date. Ez yo’re er better jedge 
uv human natur’ nor mos’ men, an’ er expert in kar’kter 
studyin’, ye’ll prob’ly find ’im wuth cultervatin’. 

“ ‘An’ now, I mus’ say good mornin’. I want ter git 
washed up fer breakfas’, an’ it’s mos’ sun-up already. So 
long. Doc.’ — 

“To my surprise, I found that my entertaining com- 
panion was right. The first rays of the sun were darting up 
behind the hills, gallantly piercing the morning fog that filled 
our little valley and feebly struggled against the brilliant darts 
of its mortal foe. 

“I wonder if there are any other such sunrises and sun- 
sets, the world over, as we used to have there in the heart of 
the Sierras. I have seen many, afloat and ashore, but never 
the equal of those of my mountain days. They were, to me, 
kindly greetings and gentle benedictions. I often wonder if 
in the bay of Naples — but there; one is not always young, 
and the sunrises and sunsets of our later years, must have 
more of fog and cloud than those of the olden time. They 
have more of the sombre tinge of Autumn than of the warm 
and rosy glow of Spring. ’Twas surely of a morning of his 
youthful days that the poet wrote — 

’ Hail to the joyous day ! With purple clouds 
The whole horizon glows. The breezy Spring 
Stands loosely floating on the mountain top 
And deals her sweets around. The sun, too, seems 
As conscious of my joy, with brighter beams 
To gild the happy world. ’ 

“Heigho! I wonder how my early experiences would im- 
press me, could I but go through them again, and weigh them 
with maturer judgment and less keen sensibilities. Doubt- 


476 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

less they would be quite commonplace, and hardly worthy of 
recital. 

“ ‘But, my boy, there is such a thing- as too much, even 
of a good story — granting that you consider this to be one. 
It is past midnight, and time we were quitting our story-tell- 
ing, so we will say good night to each other, and an revoir to 
the gallant Major.’ ” 



[ 


s I 



THE PASSING OF MAJOR MERRIWETHER 


ii. 



the smoke ascends — what 
fancies arise, 

What visions of old be^ 
wilder the eyes — 

What mem Vies come 

trooping out of the past, 
Each new one brighter, by 
far, than the last! 

See how they glimmer 
and glow. 


Yet fade, tho* we love them so — 

The roseate fancies that memory lends. 

As the fragrant smoke to the skies ascends. 





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I 


PUFFEC’ PARE-r>FVTL, SUH 


THE PASSING OF MAJOR MERRIWETHER, 


II. 



waiting- for the doc- 
ff tor, I found upon his 
library table a recently 
published book by a dis- 
ting-uished American physi- 
cian, containing a collection of 
all the evil things that litera- 
ture has had to say of medical 
men. The small size of the 
work was very complimentary 
to the medical profession, for 
the author had evidently been 
thorough and painstaking."*" 
While glancing through this 
interesting book, it occurred to me to ask Doctor Weymouth 
to say something upon the general subject of the doctor in 
literature. That my friend took an interest in the subject 
is well shown by his remarks. 


“The doctor has always been a favorite theme with 
authors, and of recent years several medical characters in 
literature have been quite noteworthy. 

“It is probable that no more beautiful character sketch 
has ever been written, than that of Doctor William MacClure 
by Ian MacLaren. In reading this story, one cannot help 
feeling that the self-sacrificing country practitioner has had 
justice done him — for once. 

*“ Le Mai qu’ on a dit des Medecins” (Witkoski). Tran.^lated and annotated by 
Dr. Thos. C. Minor. 


482 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


'‘Sancho Panza remarked, that men were ‘as God made 
them, and sometimes a g'ood deal worse. ’ Doctors are as God 
made them — or as nature desig-ned them, if you please — and 
usually a g-reat deal better. 

“ The doctor has ever been a colossal lig-ure in the drama 
of life, and among- all the strolling- players who make the 
world their temporary stag-e, none have played their part 
better than he; indeed, the play could hardly ^o on without 
him. Whether the curtain is rising- or falling-, whether the 
actors are coming- or g’oing, be the play all tears and sorrow 
or all joy and laug-hter, he is the central fig-ure. 

“It is by no means remarkable, therefore, that the g-iants 
of literature have found the doctor an ever fruitful theme; 
not only is he indispensable to the leg-itimate drama of life, 
but apparently to the comedy as well. Whether he be the 
hero of romance or the butt of literary ridicule, the doctor’s 
make-up is always irreproachable, and he has never been 
known to forget his lines. When he turns his own hand to 
the doing of romance, or even to the creation of comedy, then 
indeed, do we realize how much the world of letters owes to 
the doctor. Oliver Wendell Holmes was a literary giant. 

“ The doctor’s place in literature has the flavor of 
antiquity; the warrior surgeon of the olden time was immor- 
talized by Homer, in his Patroclus, who, according to the 
ancient myth, shared with the mighty Achilles and with 
Esculapius — our patron saint — the instruction and counsel 
of sage Chiron, the ‘sire of pharmacy.’ 

“But not all authors have followed Homer’s example in 
doing us honor. The doctor of the comparatively recent past, 
was apparently the favorite target of the humorous writers 
of the day. ‘ Medicine,’ said a writer of the early part of the 
last century, ‘ is a very difficult science, because the theory 
depends upon the understanding, and the practice on the 
imagination. It is a science founded upon conjecture, and 
full of danger to the patient, for, as Plato says, “the con- 
jectures of physicians are very uncertain.”’ Whether the 
members of the royal academy of undertakers were sub- 
poenaed as witnesses in the case, deponent sayeth not, but 
this verdict was quite generally accepted. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


483 


“ Dryden was a consistent scorner of physic, as might 
be expected of so brilliant a mind, regarding a science so un- 
satisfactory as was medicine in his day. He, like many 
others, believed in throwing physic to the dogs — providing 
the dogs belonged to his neighbor. But Dryden asked too 
much of medicine, as shown by his lines — 

‘ Physic can but mend our crazy state, 

Patch an old building, not a new create. ’ 

“Dryden was not the only literary knight who broke a 
lance with the luckless disciples of Esculapius. The re- 
doubtable Ben Johnson, Dean Swift, Byron, Hogarth, Tobias 
Smollett and a host of others, lampooned, caricatured and 
smote the profession, hip and thigh. 

“The explanation of this animosity is in several in- 
stances not difficult. Lord Byron’s brain was as clubbed as 
his foot. Hogarth would have caricatured the vestal virgins, 
and Smollett was an unsuccessful physician himself. Both 
literature and medicine have cause for thanksgiving in the 
failure of Smollett to gain a livelihood by the practice of 
physic. Smollett set the pace for all professional failures, 
and even unto this day, none kicketh so hard as the disap- 
pointed doctor. 

“It was certainly unbecoming in Smollett to allude to his 
one-time confreres, as ‘A class of animals resembling so 
many ravens hovering over a carcass, and plying for employ- 
ment like scullers at Hungerford stairs.’ 

“Poor old Tobias! Ten grains of calomel would have 
removed the toxins from his liver, and taken the taste of 
those sour grapes from his mouth. There was much of wit, 
in the adventures of Peregrine Pickle, but more of bilious- 
ness. With Smollett, the best guesser was the best physi- 
cian — the more power to him ! 

“Dean Swift gave the doctors credit for one important 
accomplishment. He had much faith in their prognostic 
ability — in fatal cases : Said he, ‘ Rather than be accused as 
false prophets, they know^ how to approve their sagacity by a 
seasonable dose.’ 


484 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“It is sad to reflect that even Shakespeare, had little 
sympathy for the doctor. He said, ‘ Trust not the physi- 
cian; his antidotes are poisons.’ 

“It must be confessed that the doctor of the olden time, 
was an easy mark for the critic’s cannon. He saw according- 
to his lig-hts, it is true; but his vision was cut on the bias. 
Accident taught him something now and then. Glancing 
back a few decades, we find good old Ambroise Pare' — he of 
immortal fame, who has been styled ‘the father of French 
surgery,’ pouring boiling oil into wounds, to purify them! It 
so happened that, after a great battle, he ran short of oil and 
used up what little he had, on the officers. When, like a good 
soldier, he went his rounds the next morning, he found the 
rank and file very chipper, I thank you, while the ‘ blooming 
hofficers,’ as Kipling would say, were having a ‘ bally time of 
it’ — those who had not joined the silent majority during the 
night. Then came some post hoc ergo propter hoc^ philoso- 
phizing, and surgery took a giant stride in advance. 

“The surgeon of the olden time learned his trade in the 
butcher shop, judging by his methods. Lisfranc, a surgeon 
of the old regime^ nearly died of a broken heart, after the 
battle of Waterloo. It was not for France that he grieved. — 
He wept not for the downfall of the hapless Napoleon. It 
makes one’s very blood run cold, to hear his pitiful lament — 
‘Alas! there are now no more of those magnificent grenadiers 
of the Imperial Guard, who had such beautiful thighs — to 
amputate.’ 

“And then the good old man consoled his tortured spirit, 
by bleeding every occupant of the hospital to the very verge 
of the grave. Verily, those were the halcyon days of the 
critic! He had many victims for his lash, when, as that 
most illustrious member of our profession, the late Doctor 
Holmes, expressed it, ‘mankind was afflicted with doses that 
required three men to take them; one to take the medicine, 
one to hold the taker, and another to pour it down.’ 

“We, of modern days, laugh at Doctor Sangrado, but 
Gil Bias, without him, would be like the play of Hamlet with- 
out the moody Dane. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


485 


“Was Sangrado overdrawn? I wot not, my young friend. 
He was but the prototype of men who are to-day flourishing 
and waxing fat in our very midst! Sangrado’s ever-ready 
lancet and hot water were all well enough in their way, but 
what of some of our modern fads? 

“Do you wonder that medicine has been lampooned? 

“ Let us yearn for the day when the seeker for truth 
shall find naught but the golden fruit of the tree of rational 
medicine to gaze upon. In that glorious epoch, he who would 
laugh at medicine, must peep into the valley of dead lumber, 
where he may take his choice between Christian science, the 
liver pad, and the left hind foot of the white rabbit. 

“It is a striking fact that most of the doctors of modern 
literature have been very creditable to our profession. Was 
it not Weir Mitchell who said that he was compelled to go 
outside of his own profession to find his villains? Holmes 
held a similar opinion. There is much of truth in this asser- 
tion. Your Doctor Jekyll must become a layman, if he would 
play the villain. Mr. Hyde must assume the burden of his 
own villainy — Doctor Jekyll is a thing apart. There is much 
that is instructive in this illustration. Your doctor may be a 
villain, but once a good doctor, always a good doctor; he must 
drop the role of doctor, else his villainy will be but a poorly 
acted part. 

“The elder Dumas, in his ‘Memoirs of a Physician,’ 
attempted to portray the villainy of a doctor, but he made a 
signal failure. Joseph Balsamo was a combination of astrolo- 
ger and alchemist, who dabbled chiefly in that black art that 
loves late hours, deserted church yards, haunted castles and 
all eerie, creepy and unwholesome things. The incantations 
and mystery of Balsamo were not the arts of physic, but the 
deviltry of the mountebank and charlatan. 

“But literature has, after all, done our noble profession 
much honor. One touch of realism, in certain phases, sweeps 
away the rubbish of a century of criticism, like so much chaff. 
Wherever the milk of human kindness flows most abundantly 
across the fair fields of literature, there will you find the 
doctor. Whether he be of the gig, or saddle-bags and 
cross-roads, or rides in a stylish brougham about the city 


486 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


streets, the doctor is always identified with the hopes, and 
joys, and fears of the human heart. He it is who shares the 



“he alone, knows where the fairies keep babies for sale.’’ 

joys and sorrows of the little children, those divining’ ang’els 
whose keen perception sees the doctor as he is, beneath his 
austere demeanor and professional dig-nity. Do they ever 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


487 


doubt him, when he tells them how he bought that sweet 
little baby brother from a man down the road, and brought 
him straight to them because they are his pets? 

“Never! And, when the dear little pink blossom is 
blighted by some affliction that even his wisdom cannot 
avert, the good, kind old doctor, is their only consolation. 
He alone, knows where the fairies keep babies for sale, and 
only he, can promise to bring them another, some day, to 
replace the one he brought and took away — the one they 
loved and lost. 

“ Where is there a grander character in literature, than 
the doctor? 

“He is a ‘skeptic,’ they say. Some critic has gone 
farther, and said, ‘ Scratch a doctor’s back and you will find 
an infidel.’ Occasionally, perhaps, but you will usually find 
a man. 

“ There are hundreds, aye, thousands! of vsuch ‘skeptics’ 
and ‘infidels’ wearily trudging about in this broad land, 
sacrificing their own interests for those of their fellow men, 
this very moment. The storm that is raging without, is 
beating against many a noble man who is on an errand of 
mercy to some suffering one, where not the remotest pros- 
pect of a fee awaits him. The infidels and skeptics of the 
profession, seem not to weary of doing their own duty — and a 
large part of that of their more saintly fellow citizens. 

“ Whatever their motive may be, whatever creed they 
may hold, the doctors of this country, sacrifice yearly, more 
in time, skill, labor, comfort — yea! even life — for the benefit 
of humanity, than the entire clergy. 

“Glory to thee, oh Medicine! for verily, this shall be 
thine only terrestrial reward. 

“The doctor must build his mansion in the skies at his 
own expense, and of such materials as he may himself select. 

“ Remember, all ye medical skeptics, that the solaced 
woes and mitigated sufferings of many thousands, will not 
furnish a single golden brick for a celestial home. The 
gratitude of unnumbered millions, will not furnish one drop 
of cooling dew, to assuage the agony of thine eternal punish- 
ment, oh, thou infidel! 


488 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Cast the search-light of criticism where you will, in 
literature, and wherever you find the true physician, there 
also will you find a true man, kind, considerate and tender- 
hearted, with eye on the beacon light of progress, working 
hard in the treadmill of toil, but ever mindful of the welfare 
of humanity. In the sunlight of truth, the shafts of criticism 
can never touch the body medical. 

“Let us all do our part in giving literature examples of 
the physician as he is to-day — a man whom it is not only 
unjust, but unsafe to lampoon. We may not all be builders 
in the temple of fame; we may not all aspire to be enrolled 
among the immortals of science, but to every physician is 
given the privilege of being a professional gentleman, and of 
rounding out his life as best he may, with the materials at his 
command. By doing our duty to ourselves and our noble 
profession, we mould the destinies of the doctor in the litera- 
ture of the future. Though we may say with the immortal 
bard of Avon — 

‘ The cloud capped towers, the g-org-eous palaces, 

The solemn temples ; the great g-lobe itself, 

Yea, all which it inherits shall dissolve. 

And, like an unsubstantial pageant faded. 

Leave not a rack behind ; we are such stuff 
As dreams are made of, and our little life. 

Is rounded with a sleep ’ — 

“Let US still remember that we owe a duty to our pro- 
fession, both to-day and for the future. 

“See here, young man, why do you allow me to ramble 
on in this fashion? I must surely bore you. 

“But it’s your own fault. You are too polite altogether; 
you shouldn’t allow a garrulous old man to talk you to 
death. 

“The Major? Well, I thought it was high time you 
were asking after him. He’s not very well this evening, I 
thank you. 

“Let me see, where was I? 

“Oh, yes, the sun had just risen over the mountains — an 
important point, yet one that has no particular bearing upon 
the continuation of my story:’’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


489 


“ Owing- to the pressure of professional duties, it was 
some time before I had an opportunity of doing- more than 
pass the time of day, with the boys about town. I had not 
seen the Major, since my first introduction to him. He was 
still celebrating- his return home, and as his fellow townsmen 
were more than g-enerous, he was likely to remain in blissful 
ig-norance of current events for some weeks at least. As the 
scene of his celebration was shifted from one saloon to 
another, and I had not been called for some days to repair 
damag-es to any of my fellow citizens, inflicted in free-for-all 
fights, the saloons were out of my regular round of calls. 

“One morning, however, as I was passing Mrs. Waters’ 
palatial abode, her little boy, Johnny, came running excitedly 
after me : 

“‘Say, Doc, hold up!’ he cried. 

“I resented the ‘Doc’ salutation from such young lips, 
but nevertheless stopped, and waited for the youngster. 

“ ‘ Well, what is it, Johnny?’ I asked. 

“ ‘ My Ma wants y’u ter come an’ see one uv our board- 
ers, an’ please sir, Ma thinks he’s got ’em!’ 

“ This seemed important, if true, so I retraced my steps 
and followed the boy to the house. 

“Mrs. Waters was a business woman, and as crisp as 
her own piecrust, so without ceremony I was ushered up- 
stairs and into a little back attic room, where I saw — the 
Major, or what remained of the old hero. 

“The boy was right, the old man did have ’em — and he 
had ’em bad. 

“Poor old fellow! he presented the most pitiful spectacle 
I have ever seen. His eyes were no longer fishy — his visions 
would have brightened up Dick Deadeye himself. They had 
scared the Major almost to death. 

“Some people see snakes, but I’ll wager that the old 
Major saw a modern reproduction of Noah’s Ark — with not a 
passenger missing. 

“ Whew! How he did rear, and tear, and howl! 

“ The old fellow was so tall, and his cot so short, that in 
his efforts to escape the zoological figments of his imagina- 



490 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

tion, he would have put a professional contortionist to the 
blush. 

“It was hard work pulling- the Major throug-h his illness 
— his age had begun to tell on him, and his habits of life 
hadn’t helped matters much. I finally, however, got him on 


“the old man DTD HAVE ’EM.’’ 

his feet again, and if gratitude is fair compensation for work 
well done. Major Merriwether has a large balance to his 
credit on my books. 

“ The old man actually fell in love with me, and, as a 
result, I afterward had abundant opportunities to study him; 
though I will confess that the Major was not a hard subject 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


491 


for analysis — he was an open book. Never in my life, how- 
ever, have I seen another such book. No book of fairy tales 
ever equalled it. The Robinson Crusoe of my youth and the 
Munchausen of my later years, hung- their heads for very 
shame, in the presence of Major Merriwether. 

“My friend ‘Mapes,’ as I have already told you, had 
given me some idea of the old Major’s popularity, but I did 
not realize the depth of affection that the towns-people had 
for him, until he became my patient. I was obliged to have 
daily bulletins at my tongue’s end. The boys were con- 
stantly asking for information regarding the distinguished 
sufferer. Nothing was too good for ‘th’ ole man,’ and such 
luxuries as the town afforded, were fairly lavished upon 
him. 

“ When the old fellow was in condition to receive visitors, 
he held court in the most approved fashion — indeed, he dem- 
onstrated that his European experience had not been lost 
upon him. And the recipient of the honor accorded him by 
his neighbors, was by no means unappreciative. 

“ ‘As I have befo’ had occasion to remark to yo’, doctah,’ 
said the Major, ‘the citizens of this commonwealth are quite 
appreciative of, ah — people of talent an’ courage, suh. Such 
qualities, suh, are suah to win in this community, an’ I pre- 
dict fo’ yo’, a popularity almos’, if not quite, equal to ma own, 
suh.’ 

“A few days later, I received a rather ceremonious call 
from a party of our most prominent citizens. So ceremonious 
was it, that if my friend ‘Mapes’ had not been at the head of 
the delegation, I should have been a trifle uneasy. The 
crowd looked not unlike some ‘ notice ter quit this hyar 
claim’ committees that I had seen. 

“But the errand of the committee was both peaceful and 
entertaining: 

“ ‘Howdy’ do, Doc?’ said Jerry, cordially, extending his 
hand.’ 

“ ‘I am quite well, I thank you, Jerry, and very glad to 
see so many of my fellow townsmen. To what may I at- 
tribute the honor of this call? You certainly are not all 
sick, are you ?’ 


492 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


‘“Oh, no, Doc, we’re feelin’ purty well, thankee. We 
jes’ (trapped in ter chin ’bout ther Major.’ 

‘“The Major!’ I exclaimed, somewhat startled, ‘why, 
what’s happened to him? He was all right this morning!’ 

“ ‘Oh, thar aint nuthin’ happen’d ter th’ ole man. He’s 
er doin’ bully, thanks ter y’u knowin’ yer bizness. Doc, an’ 
we boys ’ll remember thet ye done the squar’ thing by him, 
y’u bet. 

“ ‘But we’ve bin er thinkin’ thet ther Major orter hev 
some light ockerpation, an’ we’ve ’eluded thet we kin help th’ 
ole feller out. He’s gittin too ole ter be overworkin’ hisself 
like he hez bin, an’ we reckon thet er perlit’kal job ’ll jes’ 
erbout hit ’im right. Aint thet so, boys?’ 

“The boys winked solemnly at the ceiling — bless their 
rugged hearts! — and ’lowed that it was ‘jes’ so.’ 

“ ‘Now,’ said Jerry, continuing, ‘Sam Barker, ther post- 
master uv this ere town, is goin’ back ter ther States, on 
erkount uv some money whut his uncle left him, an we’ve bin 
er thinkin’ thet thet air job is jest erbout Maje’s size, an’ we 
air goin’ ter make er pull fer et. 

“ ‘Uv course, ther gov’ment aint likely ter go back on his 
fren’s hyar in this ere town, but we thort we’d like ter hev 
ther thing kinder systermatick like, an’ git er stiffkit uv 
diserbil’ty frum y’u. D’ye see ther pint?’ 

“It was quite easy to see Jerry’s points — and to feel 
some of them — so I hastened to assure him that it would give 
me great pleasure to assist in so worthy a cause. 

“A few minutes later, armed with my formal opinion as 
to the necessity of rest and light employment in the Major’s 
case, and loaded with a goodly part of the greatly depleted 
contents of my demijohn, my distinguished visitors departed. 

“As they triumphantly passed out of the door, I heard 
some one say, ‘Aint Doc jest er bully boy with er glass eye?’ ” 

“The Major had been convalescent and about for some 
weeks, when he surprised me one evening by calling at my 
humble quarters. 

“The old man was evidently feeling pretty well satisfied 
with the world in general, and himself in particular. He 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


493 


fairly beamed with self-satisfaction, and I noted a shade of 
dignity rather deeper than I had yet observed upon his face. 
His usually stony eyes were actually twinkling with anima- 
tion. His cheek was tinged with a rosy flush, which was by 
no means due alone to blooming health — for he had evidently 
disobeyed my directions, and was on the brink of a relapse, 
judging by his pungent breath. 

“‘Good evening, Major,’ I said. ‘It is evident that all 
goes well with thee. But why this unw^onted hilarity?’ 

“ ‘ W’y, suh, haven’t yo’ heahd ? ’ 

“I promptly confessed my ignorance of the subject in 
hand. 

“‘Well, suh, the gov’ment of this gre’t an’ glo’ious 
country, has tendah’d me th’ office of pos’mastah of this 
thrivin’ city, suh. Aftah due an’ propah deliberation, I have 
concluded to take it, suh, an’ I have called to accept yo’ con- 
gratulations, ma deah doctah, an’ to join with yo’ in con- 
gratulatin’ the cit’zens of this commonwealth, on their public 
spirit an’ entahprise, suh. As I have befo’ had occasion to 
remark, suh, this town is a place where intelligence, execu- 
tive capacity an’ courage are appreciated, suh. 

“ ‘It is not nec’sary to say to yo’, ma deah fren’, that I 
shall at all times welcome yo’ at ma office, suh. Yo’ may be 
suah, doctah, that the good will of the gov’ment officials of 
this town is already spoken fo’, fo’ ma physician. 

“ ‘I have called thus early, to exten’ the propah co’tesies 
to yo’, because in the pressuah of official business, I might fail 
to show yo’ the propah amount of attention. Yo’ are ma best 
fren’, suh, aftah ma fren’ th’ hon’ble Mistah Mapleson. I am 
free to confess, suh, that yo’ education an’ social position are 
such, that ouah relations are much mo’ unconventional than 
would be poss’ble between gentlemen of less cultuah than 
ouahselves, suh.’ 

“I assured the Major, that I not only congratulated him 
upon the appreciation shown him by our great commonwealth, 
but also upon the esteem in which he was held by his fellow 
citizens. I remarked, however, that the Government of the 
United States was really the gainer by the transaction. 


494 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“‘You know, Major,’ I said, ‘that public office is often 
trying and laborious. In my opinion, we are most fortu- 
nate to have among us so distinguished a citizen, who is will- 
ing to sacrifice his own interests to those of the public.’ 

“‘Yes,’ said the Major, drawing himself up to as near 
his full height as my ceiling would admit, meanwhile inflating’ 
his chest until it looked like a balloon, ‘But, yo’ see, ma deah 
doctah, somebody mus’ sacrifice himself fo’ the common- 
wealth, an’ if men of honah an’ brains do not come fo’ward, 
what’s to become of our gre’t an’ glo’ious country, suh?” 

“At this juncture I noticed that the Major’s voice was 
getting a trifle husky. I knew that if I did not provide a 
remedy he would obtain it elsewhere, and I preferred to 
regulate both quality and dose, myself. Then, too, the oc- 
casion was one for rejoicing. I therefore brought my bour- 
bon to the front. There was no difficulty in finding it. All 
I had to do was to follow the Major’s thirsty glances — which 
had been transfixing that devoted demijohn ever since he 
entered my shanty. 

“ The demijohn was somewhat disfigured, yet still pro- 
ductive, when the Major and I began upon it, but it was no 
longer worth cultivation when we got through with it. Ye 
gods! What a horrible drought the dear old man had ac- 
quired during his sickness! For a moment I felt a pang of 
regret that I had cured him — that was such awfully good 
whisky, and no more of the kind to be had nearer than Hen- 
derson county, Kentucky. 

“But I got the worth of my liquor before the evening 
was over. 

“The old Major soon got warmed up, and began talking 
on his favorite theme — himself. 

“ ‘ Do yo’ know, doctah, that puss’nal courage, an’ a high 
degree of intell’gence, suh, are appreciated all the world ovah? 
Now, in Kaintucky — ma native state, I’m mos’ happy to say, 
suh — I had gre’t trouble in preventin’ ma fellah cit’zens from 
sendin’ me to Congress. There was no opposition wo’th 
mentionin’ — I was really the unan’mous selection of ma dis- 
trict, suh.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


495 


“‘Well, really, Major, you oug-ht to have embraced the 
opportunity. You might have enrolled your name upon the 
records of your g-reat state, along with those of some of our 
most renowned statesmen. 

“ ‘Henry Clay, sir, is a name which will ever adorn the 
brightest pages of our country’s history, and with the name 
of Merriwether side by side with that of her other great 
sons, Kentucky history would have gained a lustre which 
would have made the very sun grow pale and wan with envy. 
Frankly, you did not do your duty. 

“‘Well, to be puffec’ly candid with yo’, suh,’ said the 
Major, ‘ such little opposition as ther’ was, came from certain 
pussons who based their antag’nism upon a few little inci- 
dents in ma careah, which ma fren’s thought ’twas best not 
to bring fo’ward too prom’nently. 

“‘Yo’ see, suh, there was a little feelin’ at the time, 
against the code of honah, suh, an’ ma fren’s, fo’ the sake of 
the cause, consid’ed it unwise to risk bringin’ it up as an 
issue, suh. The cry of “ fiah eatah!” would have attracted 
the attention of the North in such a mannah as to damage the 
cause, suh, an’ threaten the integrity of one of ouah mos’ 
sacred institutions, suh.’ 

“ ‘ I presume that the opposition would have had no great 
amount of difficulty in proving a case against so gallant a 
blade as yourself, sir,’ I said. 

“ ‘Well, ah — I may say, suh, that there was a little color 
to the cha’ges of the opposition. Most of ma little alfaihs 
did not attract much attention — such little mattahs were so 
common with us, suh. But aftah I shot Kunnel Maxwell, 
suh, fo’ insultin’ one of ma lady fren’s, there was some 
grumblin’. Yo’ see, the Kunnel was a very prom’nent man, 
an’ his affaihs usually went the othah way. Ah! he was a 
game man. Maxwell was!’ 

“‘But the crit’cisms were not very seveah till I cut 
Majah Cartwright, suh, an’ I mus’ say that I was in disfavah 
fo’ some time aftahward. ’Twas claimed that the Majah 
was too drunk to put up a good light, but I can assuah yo' 
that he was no drunkah than — than I am, suh.’ — 


496 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ I assured the Major that I didn’t think his antag’onist 
could possibly have been drunker than he was. Passing' 
over my satire with lordly disdain, he continued: 

“ ‘ No, suh, they were wrong", suh. The Majah was dead 
game, suh, an’ I still carry the marks of his bowie. Cut ma 
lung clean thro’, suh! Howevah, I soon went into the army, 
havin’ secured a commission as Majah, an’ ma glo’ious career 
in the Mexican wah, soon blotted out the mem’ry of those 
old time trifles, suh.’ 

“‘I suppose, Major,’ I said, ‘that you fairly eclipsed 
yourself when you were fighting the battles of our country.’ 

“ ‘ Well, I may say, suh, that I did do a little fightin’. Ma 
fren’ Gen’ul Scott, said, aftah the battle of Resaca, where I 
was wounded in capturin’ a batt’ry with ma own hand, suh — 
that I was the gre’test fightah in the army — a puffec’ dare 
devil, suh!’ 

“ ‘With such a record, sir,’ I said, ‘you should have been 
a general of division at the very least, by the time victorv 
crowned our banners at the close of the war.’ 

“Ah, ma deah boy, so ma fren’ Scott used to say! But 
that cursed sense of honah of mine, again proved an obstacle, 
suh. Yo’ see, I was pop’lar in the army, but aftah ma affaih 
with Kunn’l Gordon got to the eahs of the political fellahs at 
Washin’ton, ma goose was cooked, suh. To be suah, the 
affaih was mos’ hon’able. The Kunn’l died like a gentle- 
man, suh, an’ he was the aggressah — little game of draw, 
yo’ know, an’ too much liquah abo’d — but that was not con- 
sidah’d by those fellahs at headquatahs. ’Twas said that it 
was a cleah case of, ah — homicide, suh. Yo’ see, I was the 
best so’dsman in th’ army, an’ I natu’lly s’lected the so’d to 
settle the mattah. I remembah the Kunn’l’s ga’d was dem’d 
po’, an’ I spitted him like a turkey, suh, but I, of co’se, sup- 
posed that he was a so’dsman.’ 

“ ‘ But, Major, I am surprised that you have not tendered 
your sword to our government in the present crisis — or are 
you, perhaps, in sympathy with the South, as are many of 
your Kentucky friends?’ 

“ ‘ Well, ah — ’ said the Major, as he hurriedly surrounded 
another adult dose of my fast ebbing elixir vitce, ‘Yo’ see, 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


497 


suh, I feel that I am needed heah in this growin’ community, 
an’ I’m compelled to make the sacrifice of ma own ambitions. 
Then too, I’m in symp’thy with the Fed’ralg’ov’ment, suh, an’ 
I don’t like to embrue ma ban’s in the g*oah of ma fellah 
cit’zens of Kaintucky, suh, Besides, I have always hoped to 
serve ma country heah in the West, an’ ma hopes have, as yo’ 
know, at las’ been re’lized.’ 

“‘So, yo’ see, ’said the Major, with a doleful sig-h, ‘Imus’ 
be resig-ned to ma humble lot, an’ not seek fo’ mo’ g-lory with 
ma so’d, suh. As I said to the Shah of Persia, when he ten- 
dah’d me a commission of General in his army, suh, “Duty 
to ma fellah cit’zens, must evah be above ma own g’lory an’ 
puss’nal int’rests, suh.” ’ 

“ ‘Ah, my dear Major,’ I said, ‘with a few more such men 
as yourself in this country, the outcome of the civil war would 
not be open to the slig’htest question.’ 

“ ‘ Yo flattah me, I’m suah, suh, but I’m proud to b’lieve 
that yo’ are siiiceah, tho’ yo’ cert’nly ovah-estimate ma talents, 
suh. But, as I once rema’ked to the Prince of Wales, “the 
exag'g-erated, ah — estimate of ouah deah fren’s, is the mos’ 
delicious sauce of existence, suh.” 

“ ‘ Speakin’ of the Prince of Wales, suh, do yo’ know that 
the deah boy almos’ tem’ted me to stay in Lunnon? One of 
the Kunn’ls of the Royal horse was thrown from his charg-ah 
an’ killed, just at the time I was there. Yo’ see, Wales had 
ordahed a review fo’ ma entahtainment, an’ while we were 
inspectin’ the troops, this Kunn’l was thrown an’ killed befo’ 
ouah eyes. Wales insisted on ma takin’ command of the 
reg'iment an’ finishin’ the review. As I happened to have on 
a full dress uniform of Kuiin’l of the Guards, which the Prince 
had ordah’d from his own tailah, specially fo’ the occasion, I 
fin’lly consented. 

“ ‘I suppose that you covered yourself and our country 
with honor and g’lory, my dear Major. You certainlv were 
placed in a conspicuous and responsible position.’ 

“ ‘Ah — yes, yo’ may be suah. But I’m suah that ma 
mil’tary trainin’, suh, modest tho’ it has been, did not reflect 
discredit ’pon ouah g-lo’ious flag-, suh. The Prince rema’ked 
afterward, that if his officahs would only learn to ride like 


498 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


Majah Merrivvethah, there would be no mo’ killed in the dis- 
tressin’ mannah that his Kunn’l of Guards was.’ 

“ ‘It is no wonder the Prince wanted to keep you in his 
service,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Wanted to keep me, suh ! Well, suh, I had dem ’d ha’d 
work gfettin’ away at all, suh! W’y, that man Wales is the 
mos’ persistent fellah yo’ evah saw, suh.’ 

“‘Well,’ I cried, raising* my g*lass, ‘Eng*land’s loss is 
California’s g*ain. Here’s to our new postmaster! May his 
shadow never grow shorter, nor his thirst thirstier. May he 
prove that the cancelling stamp is mightier than the sword — 
and may spongy degeneration ever be the lot of his gastro- 
intestinal mucous membrane. May his courage never grow 
less, nor his kidneys fail him. May his liver be the grave of 
sorrow and the birthplace of joy. May his salary swell with 
the passing of the years, and his mustaches never grow flaccid. 
May he marry “the apple of his eye,” and bring up in our 
midst a large and interesting family of little majors and 
majoresses, with the courage, beauty, gallantry and veracity 
of their talented father! To the most distinguished soldier 
of modern times; that relic of a more robust and chivalric 
age — Major Merriwether — sir to you !’ 

“ And down went the. last of the golden sap of Henderson 
County. — 

“Vale, sweet nectar! Thou wast my friend when the 
world was new! Thou didst lend a rosy glow to the dreams 
of mine youthful ambition — thou didst gild the mountain tops 
of mine hopes and illumine the valley of my despair! Never 
shall I look upon thy like again, oh demijohn of uncouth mould 
and heavenly contents ! 

“Too much sentiment over a jug of whisky, eh? Well, 
young man, you didn’t know the times, nor the difficulty of 
getting good liquor in those days. And you didn’t know the 
boys, nor that particular jug of whisky, and — and you didn’t 
know the Major, nor me.” 


“As the old man bade me good night, I once more con- 
gratulated him upon his good fortune, and promised that I 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


499 


would call upon him at an early date and enjoy his hospitality 
in his new quarters. 

“As he stag-g-ered away into the g-loom of the nig-ht, I 
said to myself — ‘ Here, among- these bleak and rocky hills, I 
have at last found that rara avis — a happy man? Oh lie! 
where is thy sting-? Oh truth ! where is thy victory?’ — 

“And then I went to bed, and dreamed that the Major 
was President of the United States, and had just appointed 
me Surg-eon-General of the Union army, with a salary equal to 
a prince’s ransom.” 

“Which reminds me, my dear boy, that if either of us 
intend to do any dreaming- to-nig-ht, it is high time we parted. 
I have much more to tell you about the Major, but we will 
have to put the old man back in his musty pigeon-hole until 
our next meeting. Suppose we drink a parting bumper of 
punch ? Let me propose a toast : 

“ Here’s to the gallant Major Merriwether P. M.! 

“ Good night.” 



4 





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THE PASSING OF MAJOR MERRIWETHER 


III. 



UAINT poets in the days 
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1 


BULL-FIGHTING A LA MODE 





THE PASSING OF MAJOR MERRIWETHER. 


III. 


was plain to be seen that the 
doctor was cross — vexation is 
rare with him, but it always. 
shows upon his countenance 
so plainly that he who runs 
may read. Then, too, my 
dear friend has a habit of 
expressing- himself quite em- 
phatically at such times; so 
there is rarely any difficulty 
in determining* his exact state 
of mind. When he is ill- 
natured there is but one way 
to remedy his condition — ag*ree with him in the view that 
thing's are all askew, draw the cork of his wrath bottle, and 
then sit back and listen with as much sympathy in your 
expression as you can muster up for the occasion. When he 
has finished firing* his intellectual Gatling- g-un — providing* he 
hasn’t hit you with some of his random shots — you may safely 
approach his majesty on almost any subject you like. The 
g*enial aroma arising* from his hookah and the diffusible g*ood 
nature of the punch, will do the rest. 

“Well, if I haven’t had a day of it! It seems to me that 
every blessed fool that happens to be enrolled on my list of 
patients, has taken a notion to be sick to-day. The weather 
is execrable, and slopping* around in the snow and slush is 
not the most ag*reeable task in the world, I can tell you! 

“ ‘ Beautiful snow,’ forsooth ! Do you know, my boy, that 
snow reminds me of human character? It’s such a beautiful 



506 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


thing- to study cm nattireU but when it is contaminated with 
worldly dross and dirt, it is vileness itself. I wonder if the 
angels, that are said to live up yonder somewhere, could 
endure the earth much better than the snowflakes do. Pos- 
sibly the snowflakes are used by the angels very much as a 
sounding line is used by mariners. If the plummet gets 
mud on it, the navigator strikes a lively gait for deep water. 
It would be interesting to know what the navigators of the 
skies — if there are any — ha veto say about to-day’s soundings. 

“I don’t wonder that most doctors look like worn-out 
hacks. And it’s not all weather that worries ’em either. 
The inequalities, eccentricities — yea, and the cussedness of 
human nature, beat any sort of weather I ever expect to meet 
in this world, and if there’s any worse — hot or cold — in the 
world which the good folks say lies beyond — 

“ Well, I’m not going to practice medicine over there, any- 
how, so I guess I can stand almost anything. I can face some 
of my old patients with a little more sang froid if I’m a gentle- 
man of leisure and not a medical drudge, on the other side of 
the Styx. 

“It seems to me that the meanness and stupidity of 
patient — or more properly, impatient — human nature, runs 
in streaks. 

“At my first call this morning, I found an old woman, 
who has bothered me just often enough to call herself my 
patient — save the mark — doubled up with a terrific intestinal 
colic. On inquiry, she said she had been sick for a week. 

“ ‘ Why did you not call me earlier?’ I asked, impatientlv. 

‘ You might at least have selected better weather and a time 
more suited to my convenience, to send for me!’ 

“ ‘Oh, well, ye see, doctor,’ she replied between groans, I 
didn’t think it ’mounted ter much. I thought I could break 
it up with some simple home rem’dies. But I’ve kep’ er 
growin’ worse an’ worse, an’ I made up my mind this mornin’ 
that I’d have to have er doctor.’ 

“ ‘ Well, madam, ’I said, ‘I’m very glad that you have con- 
cluded to have a physician, although I’m inclined to quarrel 
with your selection, as there are plenty of good doctors who 
live near you. What have you been taking?’ I inquired. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


507 


“ ‘Oh, I haint taken anythin’ much. You see, our med’cine 
chest was nearly empty, an’ Maria had lost Doctor Quackem’s 
fam’ly med’cine g-uide, so I had ter g-et along’ with what few 
thing’s Missus Thompson, who lives next door, happened ter 
have by her.’ 

“ ‘ Yes, yes, my dear madam ! but will you kindly enum- 
erate the various simples you have taken.’ 

“ ‘Oh, well, ye see I’d beentakin’ Dosem’s Sars’prilla fer 
my blood fer sev’ral weeks, an’ I thoug’ht I oug’ht ter have 
somethin’ ter act on my liver, sol took about six er Purg’em’s 
pills. They didn’t act well, so Missus Thompson said I mus’ 
work ’em off with er dose er salts an’ seeny, but after all, I 
had ter take two big’ spoonfuls er castor ile, an’ I think that 
rather upsot my stomach, for I haint been able ter eat any- 
thin’ much but some potato salad an’ sausag’es with er little 
cabbag’e, fer sev’ral days. I g’ot so weak that my husband 
had ter jest make me take some whisky toddy, an’ I’ve kep’ 
that down pretty well. When the pain come on, I don’t know 
what I’d er done if Ezra hadn’t g’ot me some Jerry’s pain 
killer from ther drug- store. Even that didn’t do much g’ood 
an’ I fin’lly had ter take some pep’mint and pareg-oric, but it 
haint helped me much, an’ I’m afraid I’ve tuck on inflam- 
mation.’ 

“ ‘ Excuse me, madam,’ I said, after quieting’ her with a 
hypodermic, ‘but what is your ag’e?’ 

“ ‘ Fifty years old ther first of las’ month,’ she replied. 

“ ‘And how long’ have you lived in the city?’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Why, doctor. I’ve lived here fer twenty-five years,’ she 
replied. — 

“Oh, drivelling- imbecility, fat-headed stupidity and 
infinite cussedness of humanity! ‘Ag’e cannot wither, nor 
custom stale, thine infinite variety !’ 

“ And so the world has merrily wag-g-ed, all the livelong- 

day. 

“ Ah, my boy! What were life without this hookah and 
my tobacco? Really, I commence to feel quite sociable ag-ain. 
I don’t believe I could g-rumble any more if I tried. 

“The punch seems better than usual to-nig-ht, doesn’t it? 
It is like that famous wine of Montebello, that contained the 


508 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

imprisoned smiles of all the beautiful peasant g-irls of sunny 
France. 

“ Which reminds me that our parting- bumper at our last 
meeting was drunk to the gallant Major. 

“ ‘ Um — where were we ? Oh yes, we had just celebrated 
the old man’s appointment as postmaster.” 

“Although the post-office was but a short distance away 
and the Major was now my near neighbor, it was several days 
before I saw him within hailing distance. The weekly stage 
was not yet due, hence no letters could arrive and there was 
no occasion to inquire for any. For a wonder, the old hero 
had kept pretty sober since my demijohn ran dry — possibly 
because my liquor had given him such an aristocratic taste 
that the plebeian ‘bug-juice ’ of the town no longer tempted 
him as of yore. At any rate, the boys said that his drinking 
had been quite moderate since he entered upon his duties as 
postmaster. To be sure, his temperance streak was destined 
to be short-lived, but we must give the old man credit for even 
his temporary sobriety. 

“ One beautiful morning, after having made a few calls — 
which were all I had planned for the day— I bethought me of 
the Major. Being curious to see more of the old fellow, and 
anxious to learn how his new environment had affected him, I 
resolved to make a formal visit to the post-office. 

“ I found the old man seated in front of the crazy-looking 
set of pigeon-holes that constituted the post-office part of 
the furniture, surrounded by a number of his friends and 
admirers, to whom he was relating some of his European 
experiences, his audience meanwhile listening as sedately as 
a lot of old owls. Their solemn visages, however, did not fit 
their ocular expressions, for it seemed as though each one 
was trying to out-wink the other. 

“As I entered the majestic presence of the postmaster, 
he was in the midst of a peroration descriptive of a thrilling 
incident that occurred at a bear hunt, to which he had been 
invited by the Czar of Russia during his European tour. 

“ ‘ Yes, gentlemen, the Czar often said aftahwa’d, that if 
it hadn’t been fo’ me, the throne of Russia would have been 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


509 


vacant. I assuah yo’, suhs, that the battle w^as a royal one. 
Fo’ a moment, I was in a very per’lous position, suhs. Ma 
rifle missed fiah, but ma trusty bowie — Well, I declah, heah’s 
ma deah fren’, the doctah ! Yo’ll excuse me, ma fellah cit’zens, 



A MOMENT, I WAS IN A VERY PEK’LOES POSITION, SUHS. 


I’m suah. W’y, ma deah doctah, how d’ yo’ do? I’m cha’med 
to see yo’ at ma office, suh !’ 

“After assuring- the Major that the honor and pleasure 
were entirely mine, I joined the party, and became an 
interested listener to the recital of the gallant postmaster’s 
European adventures, for the remainder of the evening. 



510 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“The old man apparently forg'ot his rescue of the Czar 
of all the Russias, but he by no means ran short of material 
— indeed, he took the floor and kept it, no effort being- neces- 
sary to draw him out. 

“ That the old Major was the prince of entertainers, was 

never disputed in the town of E , but on this occasion he 

fairly outdid himself. Several of the boys endeavored for 
some time to g-et a word in edg-ewise, but without avail, until 
the Major stopped for breath, when Charley Mason g-ot the 
floor and beg-an a description of a bull-fig-ht he had once wit- 
nessed in the City of Mexico, which, to his mind, appeared to 
compare very favorably with some of the Major’s wonderful 
experiences. 

“‘But, uv course,’ said he, ‘ ther Major hez never hed 
ther chance ter see er bull-fig-ht, seein’ ez how when he wuz 
in Mexico ’long- with Gineral Scott, he wuz too busy killin’ 
g-reasers, ter waste his time watchin’ bull-fig-hts. Ennyhow, 
by ther time ther Major g-ot throug-h killin’ ’em, thar wuzn’t 
Mexicans ’nuff left whar he wuz, ter g-it up er fust class 
chicken-fig-ht, ter say nuthin’ uv er bull-fig-ht.’ 

“The Major accepted this rather fulsome tribute to his 
valor, with his usual modesty, but immediately took exception 
to the introduction of a Mexican bull-fig-ht as a competitor of 
his European adventures. 

“ ‘Ma fren Charles is very kind to mention ma exploits 
in Mexico, I’m suah. I mus’ say, howevah, that I’m surprised, 
suhs, that he has been so impressed with the crude methods 
of bull-fig-ht in’ prev’lent in Mexico. W’y, suhs, there’s no 
compa’ison between the prim’tive enta’tainments of the Mex- 
icans an’ those of, ah— what may be termed the parent 
country — Spain, the land of Ferd’nan’ an’ Is’bella. Ah, 
gentlemen! I wish that yo’ might witness the magnif’cent 
spectacle presented by a Spanish bull-fight. W’y, suhs, if it 
were not fo’ fatiguin’ yo’ all, I’d tell yo’of an experience that’ 
-and with a fine show of diffidence he paused. 

“ There was a general cry of ‘ Go on, Maje, let’s hev ther 
yarn!’ so, after a preliminary round of drinks, he cleared his 
ever-husky throat, and began: 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


511 


“‘Well, suhs, there’s not much to tell yo’ all. Yo’ see, 
the Duke of, ah — Aconcagua, whom I met at a reception given 
by th’ American Consul at Madrid, happened to take quite a 
fancy to yo’ humble servant, suhs, an’ did me the honah of 
permittin’ me to dine him, a few days latah, at ma hotel. 
Durin’ the dinnah — which comprised fo’teen co’ses an’ was 
tha’ fo’ quite prolonged — the Duke had the oppa’tunity of 
cultivatin’ ma ’quaintance, an’ I can assuah yo’ suhs, that he 
took advantage of it. 

“ ‘At the close of the repas’. His Highness expressed his 
delight in makin’ ma ’quaintance, an’ invited me to visit him 
the followin’ week, at his estate a few miles from Madrid. “ I 
can’t do yo’ justice, I’m quite suah, ma deah Majah,” said he, 
“ but I shall be cha’med to give yo’ such modest enta’tainment 
as ma humble oppa’tunities will permit.’’ 

“‘Although ma social engagements were very pressin’, 
I accepted the Duke’s kind invitation, suhs, an’ at th’ 
appointed time was on hand, sev’ral of the nobil’ty of the 
Spanish Court, who had also been invited, accompanyin’ me to 
the Duke’s chateau. 

“‘The Duke kep’ me in a whirl of pleasuah fo’ sev’ral 
deiys, an’ I can assuah yo’, suhs, that I had ha’d wo’k to tear 
maself away. 

“ Among othah things the Duke provided fo’ ma enta’tain- 
ment, was a bull-fight, conducted in reg’lar Spanish fashion. 
The flowah of the Spanish chivalry, an’ the mos’ beautiful 
women of the country ’roun’, were invited to the fete fo’ the 
special pu’pose of meetin’ me, suhs. 

“‘Ah, ma fren’s!’ said the Major, with a prodigious 
sigh, ‘ that was a day to be ma’ked with a white stone — nevah 
in ma life have I witnessed such a sight as was presented by 
those grandees an’ faih ladies of Ole Spain. An’ nevah shall 
I forget that bull-fight, suhs! 

“ ‘I can assuah yo’, gentlemen, that yo’ all can’t imagine 
how interestin’ the bull-fightin’ was. What with the gay cos- 
tumes of the ladies an’ the picturesque garb of the actahs in 
that thrillin’ scene, it was an occasion evah to be rememba’ed. 

“ ‘I wish I could pictuah to yo’ all, th’ excitin’ scenes of 
that magnif’cent display. Seven hawses an’ fo’ men killed, 


512 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

suhs, an’ three milk-white Andalusian bulls slain ! Jus’ think 
of it!’ 

‘“I beg- pardon, Major,’ I said, ‘but did you say milk- 
white bulls?’ 

“ ‘ Precisely so, suh, milk-white bulls, each of which was 
wo’th at least a thousand dollars, suh ! ’ 

“‘Ma compassion was fin’lly touched by the sig-ht of 
those mag-nif’cent an’mals, with their snowy hides all flecked 
with g-oah, an’, desi’ous of checkin’ such a waste of those 
king-ly creatuahs, I waved ma han’ at the Duke, who was him- 
self pa’ticipatin’ in the fig-htin’ — an’ a royal fig-htah he was, 
suhs — an’ as soon as I succeeded in attractin’ his attention, I 
vSaid that I was fatig-ued an’ would considah it a g-re’t favah if 
he would terminate the enta’tainment. It was plain to be 
seen that the g-randees were in fav^ah of proceedin’, but the 
Duke paid no attention to them, an’ immediately concluded 
the exhibition by invitin’ me into th’ arena an’ publickly 
introducin’ me to his disting-uished g-uests. Yo’ nevah saw 
such an ovation, suhs, as I received when they heard ma 
name! How small the wo’ld is, aftah all! One’s reputation 
is not bounded by g-eog-raph’cal lim’tations, yo’ may be suah.’ 

“‘I presume. Major,’ I said, ‘that you made a verv 
careful study of the Spanish method of bull-fig-hting-, while 
you were participating- in that mag-nificent 

“ ‘Well, ma deah doctah, I mus’ say that I did, suh, an’ 
the ideah has occurred to me that I may be able to arrang-e 
mattahs so that ma fellah cit’zens can g-et the ben ’fit of my 
expe’ience, suh.’ 

“ ‘ In what way. Major ? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘Well, suh, I was thinkin’ that if the boys could g-et a 
bull that would be sufficiently feahce, I might demonstrate 
the, ah — Spanish method of bull-fightin’, in such a maiinah as 
to affo’d enta’tainment an’ instruction to ma fellah cit’zens, 
suh. I have the propah costume an’ other appu’t’nances fo' 
the affaih, an’ I can assuah yo’ all, that I shall be mos’ happy 
to employ ma feeble talents fo’ the enta’tainment of ma fren’sl ’ 

“‘W’y,’ said Charley Mason, ‘nuthin’ could be easier. 
Ef yore in dead earnes’, Maje, we kin fix ye out in gre’t 
shape. Et’s easy ’nuff ter git er bull, an I reckon we kin git 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


513 



one thet ud hook yer ole Andylusyuns off’n the earth. Uv 
course ye wants er savidge cuss; them Spanish fellers kin 
afford ter fool erway the’r time on them kittenish white 
cattle, but er man uv yore brav’ry, wants suthin’ jest about 
right in the lightin’ line. Aint thet so, boys?’ 

“ The boys emphatically agreed that it was so, and 
appeared delighted with the prospect of a genuine Spanish 
bull-fight. 

‘“I would suggest, 
Major,’ I said, ‘that 
your exhibition ought 
to be given upon a 
prominent holiday. 
Now, the Fourth of 
July is almost here, 
and nothing could be 
more fitting and patri- 
otic, than to celebrate 
Independence Day by 
a grand which 

shall comprise among 
other things, a genuine 
Spanish bull-fight. I 
will confer with our 
mutual friend, Mapes, 
to-morrow, and I have 
no doubt that he will 
not only give us the 
benefit of his counsel, 
but will also be de- 

FKOM ANDALUSIA. • , . j . . 

lighted to co-operate 
with us. Indeed, if Jerry will kindly consent to assume the 
direction of the affair, I believe that its success will be as- 
sured.’ 

“ ‘ W’y, ma deah doctah, yo’ are, as usual, wise an’ mos’ 
discriminatin,’ an’ I think, suh, that yo’ suggestion is mos’ 
timely. If, as yo’ so kindly propose, yo’ will see Mistah 
Mapleson, I shall be gre’tly obliged to yo’, suh. Yo’ prop’si- 
tion to have the affaih on the glorious Fo’th, is a mos delicate 


514 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


compliment, suh, an’ I assuah yo’ that I shall do ma part to 
make the occasion wo’thy of the day.’ 

“After a few more liquid salutes, the Major having- mean- 
while explained the intricacies of our postal system to me, 
and assured me that my postal business would receive his 
personal attention, the company broke up. 

“I conferred with my friend Jerry, the following- day, 
and to say that he was wildly enthusiastic over the proposed 
Fourth of July celebration, would be putting- it mildly. 

“ ‘ W’y, Doc,’ he said, ‘ thet’s ther g-re’tes’ scheme I ever 
heerd on! We’ll hev er show thet’ll make them fellers down 
et Placerville, eat the’r d — d hearts out with jealersy! Er 
genooine Spanish bull-fight! Wall, by the eternal! Ef we 
don’t show ’em er fight thet’ll put ther Spanishers the’rselves 
ter sleep, ter say nuthin’ ’bout par’lyzin’ ther greasers. I’ll 
jest eat my hat ! ’ 

“Jerry cheerfully assumed the entire charge of the 
forthcoming event, for which I was not at all sorry, as bull- 
fighting was a little out of my latitude. My versatility did 
not extend quite so far. 

“About a week later, as I was returning from a call upon 
a sick miner that had taken me the better part of the day — 
for the poor devil lived at a little mining camp some miles 

from E , I met Jerry, riding leisurely along on his tough 

little mustang. He was chuckling to himself over something 
or other which seemed to please him immensely, and would 
have ridden by me without speaking, so preoccupied was he, 
had I not hailed him. 

“ ‘ Hallo there, Jerry!’ I cried. ‘Don’t keep the joke all 
to yourself! Let an old friend in on it, won’t you ? ’ 

“At this, Jerry broke out in a hearty guffaw. Recogniz- 
ing me, he replied: ‘Hello thar. Doc! I’m glad ter see ye. 
Uv course yer in on ther joke. I wuz jest er thinkin’ ’bout 
ther bull-fight we’re goin’ ter hev nex’ week, an’ ther prac- 
ticin’ ther Major wuz doin’ this arternoon.’ 

“ ‘ Practicing, Jerry, what do you mean?’ 

“‘Wall,’ said he, ‘ ’twuzn’t jes’ zackly practicin’ uv er 
bull-fight, but he wuz gittin’ his hand in on ther brav’ry biz- 
ness in gre’t shape, I kin tell yer. Yer ^ee, th’ ole man hed 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


515 


gone ercross ter Bill Hewlett’s ter git his reg’lar bracer, 
wich, ’cordin’ ter Bill, is needed ’bout ev’ry half hour durin’ 
ther Major’s bizness hours. While he wuz in ther saloon, 
some uv us boys happened ter be goin’ by ther post-offis, an’ 
seed some smoke cornin’ out er ther place. We wuz jes’ 
goin’ ter rush in an’ ’vestigate, when ole Maje come er long, 
he hevin’ swallered his licker purty prompt. He saw ther 
smoke, an’ ther crowd uv us fellers er rushin’ to’ards ther 
door uv ther post-of&s, an’ took ther thing in ter wunst. 

“ ‘ Rushin’ up t’ us boys, he yelled, “ Excuse me, suhs, 
Stan’ where yo’ are! Don’t move a step, fo’ Gawd’s sake! 
Wait fo’ me! Wait fo’ me!” 

“ ‘With thet, th’ ole feller bolted through ther door, an’ 
shet et arter hisself. 

“ ‘ We fellers didn’t know whut ther devil ter do. We 
s’posed ther guv’ment hed some fancy rules erbout post-offis 
bizness whut we didn’t understan’, but we wuz oneasy ’bout 
ther Major, fer ther smoke wuz now porin’ out purty strong. 
We waited er few minutes more, an’ wuz jest erbout ter bust 
ther door in, when who should come eroun’ the corner uv 
ther guv’ment shanty, but ther Major! 

“ ‘ Yer jes’ orter seed th’ ole duffer! He wuz dressed in 
er glarin’ red fireman’s unerform whut he hed bro’twith him 
frum Europe, an’ er hemlet thet looked like the roof uv er 
’dobe house. Strung ercrost his breast wuz ev’ry d — d 
medal he’s got! He hed went through ther post-offis inter 
ther little extenshun in ther rear, whar he’s bin campin’ out 
since his appintment, dressed hisself in ther “propah cos- 
tume,” an’ come back ter fight ther fire! 

‘“Come on, suhs!” sez he, “an’ let’s extinguish this 
conflagration! Ouah country expec’s ev’ry man to do his 
duty!” 

“ ‘An’ then th’ ole man stood bravely by ther door while 
we boys went in an’ kerried out er bar’l uv ole rubbish, whut 
he hed knocked th’ ashes off’n his pipe inter, jest afore he 
went arter his bev ’ridge. 

“‘I tell ye whut. Doc, if th’ ole Major fights bulls the 
way he fit thet fire, thar won’t be ’nuff steers in ther hull 
diggin’s ter give him animiles ’nuff ter work on.’ 


516 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Between our hearty laughter and the dust of the road, 
Jerry and I managed to get our throats in such condition that 
I was obliged to suggest liquidation, and as neither of us had 



any liquor just then— I had exhausted 
my flask on the road— Jerry allowed 
that his journey was not very important and rode back to 
town with me. We found the necessary medicine at the 
Minerva, and while discussing it, Mapes unfolded his plans 
for the coming bull-fight. 


“OUAH COUNTRY EXPEC’S EV’rY MAN 
TO DO HIS DUTY. ’ ’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


517 


“‘I tell ye whut, Doc,’ said he, ‘we’ve g’ot a ole black 
steer thet’ll jes’ make yer ha’r curl! He’s th’ ug-liest ole 
Mexican devil thet ever ye seed. Ther greaser whut got ’im 
fer me, sez he’s hooked ev’ry d — d thing- off ’n th’ ranch whar 
he lassoed ’im. Ther boys hev g-ot him corraled up hyar er 
piece, an’ they go up thar ev’ry day an’ tease th’ ole chap till 
he froths et ther mouth an’ ta’rs up ther groun’ like er 
reg’lar hurry kane. Oh, he’s er bute, he is! I reckon ther 
Major’ll think he’s ther ekal uv enny o’ them milk-white An- 
dylusyers. Ther Major sez we’d orter hev er good big place 
fer ther fight, so’z ter giv’ ’im er chance ter ev’lute ’roun’, 
an’ give ther crowd er show fer the’r white alley. I guess 
th’ ole man’s right, too, though he haint seed thet steer yit. 
We want ter ’sprize him, ye know, on ther day uv ther fight.’ 

“ ‘ I have no doubt that he will be both surprised and 
delighted by your selection of a foeman worthy of his steel,’ I 
said. ‘And, by the way, Jerry, permit me to suggest that in 
case some accident should happen and — well, you see, my 
friend, even the best professional torreadors and matadores 
in the world, are occasionally over-matched, and I should be 
sorry to see anything happen to the dear old Major.’ 

“‘Wall, Doc,’ he replied, with a grin, ‘I thort er thet, 
myself. Uv course, thet steer won’t last longer ’n er clean 
shirt when th’ ole Major gits arter him, but I kinder thort 
thet, seein’ ez how his hoss might slip, ’twould be ez well ter 
be kinder prepared like. I hev posted ther boys, an’ some 
uv ’em whut kin shoot purty smooth, ’ll hev the’r rifles handy, 
an’ all on us ’ll hev our six-shooters slung onter us, same ez 
ev’ry day. Thar’ll be some chances, uv course, but I don’t 
reckon ther Major ’ll ’low his brav’ry ter run erway with him 
— ther hoss is more likely ter, an’ he’s no racer et thet.’ 

“ With a parting bumper and a promise to be on hand on 
the Fourth, I left for home. As I was mounting my horse, 
Jerry called out, ‘Say, Doc, ez yore cornin’ ter ther bull-fight 
ennyhow, yer might ez well slip er few bandages an’ things 
in yer pocket — in case ther hoss gits hurted ye know!’ ” 

“ The Fourth of July dawned bright and beautiful, as 
was proper and in keeping with a good story. It was evident 


518 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


that the star attraction of our celebration would not require 
postponement on account of the weather. The birds never 
sang more sweetly nor were the clouds ever fleecier, as they 
floated over those glorious mountain peaks that walled us in 
like grim, snow-capped sentinels. There was just breeze 
enough blowing to give a zest to the cool mountain atmosphere. 

“Everything was as quiet that morning as a Puritan 
Sabbath in stuffy old New England. The ‘ chug ’ of the pick 
and the clang of the shovel were conspicuously absent among 
those rocky hills and crags. So still was the camp, that an 
elk that was snuffing the air in a spirit of curious and careful 
investigation, far up on the mountain side, came nearer and 
yet nearer, tossing his huge tree-like horns in defiance at 
first, and then standing stock-still as if amazed. When he 
had finished his tour of investigation, he turned and stalked 
majestically away down the side of a rocky gorge that 
would hardly have afforded safe footing for a cat. He glanced 
back several times as though bewildered, and finally, with a 
farewell toss of his kingly head, disappeared among the 
scrubby pines and firs that fringed even the steep canon 
sides of those mighty mountains of the Sierra range. 

“Even Nature herself, seemed out for a holiday. The 
scream of a panther, far off in the woods, and the less terrify- 
ing and more familiar cry of the cat-bird, split the air with 
an echo as of alien sounds. Even the pretty ‘Bob White! 
Bob White I ’ of the mountain quail, actually surprised the ear. 

“As I stood at the door of my little shack, and inhaled 
the invigorating balm that was brought by the early morn- 
ing breeze from the mountain firs and pines, the decided 
holiday aspect of the camp struck me most forcibly. It was 
evident that my fellow citizens had unanimously agreed upon 
a holiday, and were making a good beginning by prolonging 
their morning nap. 

“While breathing in huge doses of the sovereign lung 
remedy of the hills, I thought my friend the Major was 
especially fortunate in having the elements with him. On 
such a glorious day, a man ought to have courage enough to 
whip his weight in wildcats, to say nothing of a Mexican 
steer. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


519 


“I had a vague hope that the Major would find some 
excuse to weaken, before the afternoon — I did not want his 
sublime yet cowardly egotism to bring him to grief. I had 
some misgivings as to his ability to keep out of the way of the 
animal that had been provided for his amusement — indeed, I 
had suggested to my friend Mapes, that he ought to let the 
old man have his horse for the occasion, but Jerry didn’t see 
it that way. 

“‘Ye see. Doc,’ he said, ‘it’s ther hoss thet mos’ alius 
gits ther wust uv these ere bull-fights. Th’ ole Major hez er 
two ter one better show ter keep frum gittin’ hurt than his 
hoss ’ll hev. I like th’ ole feller better’n most ennybody, but I 
kaint do bizness without thet little buckskin nag o’ mine. 
Besides, ez I’ve told ye, ther boys ’ll be on hand with the’r 
rifles, so yore mind kin be easy ’bout our center uv attrack- 
shun et ther cornin’ show. Th’ ole feller ’ll git his purty 
cloze mussed, mor’n likely, but thet’s ’bout all.’ 

“I did feel somewhat easier in mind after this reassur- 
ance, but I will candidly confess that I was by no means free 
from anxiety. 

“As I stood there at my door enjoying the beautiful sun- 
rise, I saw a solitary horseman emerge from the midst of 
some chaparral bushes that fringed the road leading toward 
Placerville. It required no critical survey of the equestrian 
to recognize him, even at the considerable distance that inter- 
vened. Those long legs and windmill-like arms could belong 
to no other human being but my friend, the Major. 

“I wish that I might describe the old man as he appeared 
that morning, with sufficient accuracy to depict him to your 
mind’s eye — but it would be useless to try. Nothing short 
of a photograph would do the subject justice. The misera- 
ble little screw of a mustang that he bestrode, was the pic- 
ture of attenuated, hungry, despairing resignation. Experi- 
ence had taught him that patience was a cardinal virtue, for 
long association with his master had convinced him that the 
world was but a satire on happiness and a burlesque on com- 
fort, and that there were no other virtues worth cultivation. 
Spirit, that mustang certainly must have had — in his earlier 
days — but numerous attempts to unhorse his gallant master 


520 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


had shown him the futility of attempting- to throw a man 
whose leg's were like a g-iant pair of calipers, or, perhaps, to 
use a simile more vital and org-anic, twin boa-constrictors — 
hence he was now as tame as a hack horse. 

“Whether the Major’s leg's had slowly but surely stran- 
gled both breath and spirit out of his modern Rosinante, I 
cannot sa}", but the beast was certainly crushed out of all 
semblance to the fiery steed which so gallant a soldier should 
have bestrode. 

“ The Major had many wonderful deeds to relate, in 
which ‘ ma chargah, suh,’ took a prominent part, and the boys 
said that he had been most solicitous about the care of his 
steed, when he left it in charge of one of his numerous friends 
on departing for Europe. I doubt not, that he would have 
found it difficult indeed, to duplicate the cast-iron ribs and 
enduring stomach Qf that tough little mustang, hence his 
solicitude for his fiery charger’s welfare was not surprising. 

“As the old soldier rode along up the steep incline of the 
road, I thought of the treat Cervantes had missed — Don 
Quixote was but a weakling beside this modern knight- 
errant, and compared with the Major’s mustang, Rosinante 
was as a kitten might have been unto Adonis’ fiery stallion. 

“The Major was not usually an early riser, and I was 
at first at a loss to understand his morning ride. He finally, 
however, turned aside, and I saw him carefully picking his 
way toward a little plateau just outside of town, where, in 
plain sight, stood the corral-like enclosure in which the long- 
looked-for bull-fight was to occur. Not until he rode up to 
the barred entrance of the enclosure, and, letting down the 
bars, ambled into the arena of the forthcoming battle royal, 
did I grasp the situation. 

“‘By Jove!’ I exclaimed, ‘if the old warrior hasn’t 
sneaked out to the battle-field for an early morning rehearsal 1 ’ 

“It seemed to me to be hardly fair for the Major to take 
such an advantage of his forthcoming antagonist — the steer 
really should have had an inning at the rehearsal business — 
but as I knew nothing of bull-fights, I never said anything to 
the boys about this particular feature of our celebration. I 
afterward wondered what kind of rehearsing the Major did 


OVER THE HOOKAH, 


521 



f 


GOING TO KEHEAKSAI. 


522 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


that morning-. I would have g-iven a great deal to have held 
a stop-watch on him. He surely must have done pretty 
well, else he could not have made such a wonderful record as 
he did later in the day. One thing- is certain, however, and 
that is, that if the bull had done any rehearsing-, the Major’s 
time would subsequently have been so intimately comming-led 
with eternity, that his record would not have appealed very 
strong^ly even to his own monumental vanity. 

“ The bull-fig-ht was set for three o’clock in the afternoon, 
but long- before the appointed time the town was swarming- 
with visitors from the surrounding- mining- camps. Some of 
the miners had come for miles, to witness the ‘ cap sheaf ’ of 

E ’s g-lorification — a bull-fig-ht, under the manag-ement of 

the only specialist in the g-enuine Spanish article in America. 
Never had those roug-h miners looked cleaner or happier. 
Their shirts were redder and their six-shooters shinier than 
ever before. 

“ Our home boys were in hig-h feather, and it was an easy 
matter for any decent and peaceable chap to own the town. 
Whisky flowed like our own mountain streams, but althoug-h 
there was many a skinful of bad liquor in camp that day, the 
boys scored the best record that had ever been made in that 
reg-ion since it was opened. An occasion of festivity without 
a cutting- or shooting- scrape ! Such a thing- was unpre- 
cedented. Why, the town was actually safe for half-way 
decent g-reasers, and on the day when the boys failed to score 
one of those bilious-looking- fellows, then, indeed, did white- 
wing-ed Peace hover over our camp. 

“ ‘ To be sure, there was something- lacking- in our influx 
of guests, the fair sex being conspicuously scanty in repre- 
sentation. An occasional squaw, dirty and picturesque, with 
here and there the bright gewgaws and jingling bells of a 
coquettish, greasy and unwholesome Mexican woman of the 
lower class, was about the extent of our female guests from 
out of town. But stay; there was the somewhat ancient, but 
still buxom Mrs. Rafferty, who took in washing, and, for 
aught I know, scrubbing, for our neighbors the Placervillians. 

“ ‘ Our own ladies were necessarily few in number. 
Mrs. Watson, and her angular, but not unprepossessing 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


523 


daughter, with a few miners’ ‘wives’ whose records would 
have hardly borne inspection— as might also be said of their 
personal hygiene — constituted the sum total of the fair sex of 
our town who were expected to do the honors at our hitherto 
unrivalled celebration. They were enough, however, I fan- 
cied, to inspire the valor of so chivalric a knight as the gallant 
Major Merriwether. 

“When the hour appointed for the bull-fight arrived, it 
was evident that everybody was prepared to be entertained. 
Our own boys, especially, seemed to anticipate a rare treat. 
Whether they had a pretty accurate idea as to the precise 
character of the forthcoming entertainment or not, I cannot 
say, but I have my suspicions. There was an air of sup- 
pressed merriment about them that warranted my distrust. 

“Lumber was scarce in our section of the country — 
our people were too busy fortune hunting, to do more than 
provide lumber enough to protect themselves from the ele- 
ments. Indeed, a canvas house was sufficiently palatial for 
many of our citizens, and especially for new-comers. 

“ No effort had been made, therefore, to construct elabor- 
ate seats for the audience that was expected at the bull-fight. 
Seating arrangements inside the grounds were not to be 
thought of, as that would have necessitated a solid inner 
fence, or barrier. A narrow platform had consequently been 
built on two sides of the enclosure, from which a person 
standing upon it could get a good view of the battle-ground 
by looking over the fence. A short ladder, here and there, 
completed the necessary equipments for the accommodation 
of sight-seers. As the entertainment was a free ‘blow-out,’ 
these rather primitive arrangements were amply sufficient. 

“A little before three o’clock, the boys, as per arrange- 
ment with the Major, managed to get the steer into the 
enclosure. He was a savage-looking black devil as ever 
you saw, and would have scared a Texas cowboy into a fit. 
The Major, however, had requested the boys to make sure 
that the animal was sufficiently ‘feahce,’ hence they pro- 
ceeded to ‘fiercen ’ him up a bit more, by a series of yells that 
would have made a Comanche Indian hide his face in modest 


amaze. 


524 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“The Major had provided them with a supply of blood- 
red banners, that he had imported along- with the other prop- 
erties essential to bull-fig-hting- 'll la Espagnole. The boys 
waved these at the steer until he was perfectly wild, and 
only desisted after the animal had narrowly missed impaling 
one of them upon his formidable horns. 

“The Major was a little late in arriving-, but finally put 
in his appearance bestriding* his scrubby little mustang- and 
carrying- a larg-e bundle at his saddle-bow. Round after 
round of hearty and explosive g-reeting*s saluted the old man 
as he rode up, dismounted, and, consig-ning- the care of his 
horse to one of his friends, proceeded to prepare for the 
fray. 

“‘I trust, suhs,’ he said, ‘that yo’ all have excited the 
bull to a sufficient extent. Yo’ see, I don’t like to dis’point 
ma fren’s, an’ inordah to enta’tain yo’, I mus’ have the animal 
quite feahce.’ 

“The boys assured the Major that no pains had been 
spared to prepare the bull, and that he was now as fierce as 
a mountain cat. 

“I’m ’bliged to yo’ I’m suah, gentlemen, an’ I will at once 
prepaih fo’ the affaih.’ 

“With this the hero marched off to a little cabin a few 
yards away, that had been impressed into service fora green- 
room. 

“In a few minutes the Major emerged from the cabin, 
arrayed in a costume the gorgeousness of which was unpar- 
alleled by anything in the way of wearing apparel that the 
crowd had ever seen. He had donned the habiliments of 
a Spanish torreador, that formed a part of his numerous 
European trappings. In addition to the brilliant garb in 
which he was to smite the mighty steer, he had bedecked 
himself with every medal he had in stock. 

“ There is no disputing the fact that the old veteran was 
a picturesque and striking figure, as he strode up to the gate, 
with his bespangled garments and multitudinous medals glit- 
tering in the sunlight. His trusty rapier — a ‘ Toledo ’ for 
the nonce — dangled at his heels and clinked against his huge 
spurs at every step. He should have struck terror to the 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 525 

heart of any foeman — but a steer is somewhat peculiar in the 
foeman line, as will develop later. 

“The Major mounted his mustang* in stately g*randeur, 
and said to the expectant gentlemen who had volunteered to 
act as his aides: ‘Yo’ see, gentlemen, it is not the usual 
custom to, ah — despatch the bull at once. The prelim’nary 
enta’tainment is gen’ally conducted by picado’s an’ band’ril- 
los’ who are supposed to prepaih the bull fo’ the chief per- 
fo’mah. Howevah, ma fren’s have kindly prepa’ed the 
animal, hence it is quite propah fo’ me to entah the arena an’ 
give the bull the coup de grace in sho’t ordah. To be suah, 
suhs, I will dally with the feahce creatuah, long ’nough to 
enta’tain yo’ all in a suit’ble mannah, an’ sat’sfy the guests 
who have hona’ed us with their presence heah this afta’noon.’ 

Yo’ will let down the bars ca’fully, gentlemen, an’ be 
on yo’ ga’d lest the feahce animal escape an’ injah some of yo’ 
all. I desiah to avoid exposin’ yo’ to dangah, suhs.’ 

“There was no necessity of asking the boys to let down 
the bars carefully. They waited until the steer had veered 
away from the entrance to the arena before they ventured to 
touch them. I am free to say that the animal didn’t seem at 
all sociably inclined, even from where I stood — and I was as 
far away from his majesty as I could get and still be able to 
see the performance. 

“The upper bars having been let down, the gallant bull- 
fighter leaped — or rather hopped — his charger over the few 
that remained, and advanced in the direction of the steer. 
Most of the on-lookers held their breath, while the reserves 
cocked their rifles and got ready for trouble. 

“It was easy to see that our boys were far from tranquil. 
The anxious expression upon some of their faces, and the 
manner in which they fondled their rifles, suggested that 
they had already carried the practical joke a little farther 
than was comfortable. Personally, I heartily wished that I 
was well out of the scrape into which I had allowed my appre- 
ciation of comedy to entice me. 

“It has always been a mystery to me that the steer — 
which had taken a point of vantage on a little eminence at the 
side of the arena directly opposite the entrance— did not 


526 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


charg-e the Major the instant he appeared upon the field. I 
am inclined to believe that even the poor dumb brute, was 
overawed by the majestic and imposing* spectacle presented 
by the hero of the hour. Possibly the animal was hypnotized, 
as animals sometimes are, by brilliant objects. Granting* the 
susceptibility of the steer, the brilliancy of the Major 
should have thrown him into a trance. 

“Upon whatever basis the phenomenon mig*ht be ex- 
plained, however, the fact remains that for a short time 
after the entrance of our g*org*eous bull-fig*hter, the steer stood 
stock-still, and g*azed upon him in wild-eyed amazement. 

“ The g*rand entree of the Major was a sig*nal for a salvo 
of wild applause, that may have had something* to do with 
confusing* the long*-horned actor. 

“But his steership was not long* inactive; he soon g*ot an 
action on him that would have surprised a Kilkenny cat! 

“The Major, on noticing* the actions of the steer when 
he first dawned upon the animal’s vision, evidently mistook 
the conservative air of his bovine foe, for fear. Bowing* gal- 
lantly to the very neck of his mustang and kissing his hand 
to the ladies, he gave the poor brute the spur and charged 
most valiantly upon the enemy. 

“The steer now suddenly awakened from his reverie, 
and not to be outdone, proceeded to meet the Major half-way. 
As he made this counter-charge, he was an object that would 
have frightened a Coeur de Lion out of his wits. I don’t know 
how the Major felt — I could not see his face — but, thank 
heaven! the mustang weakened, swerved aside with a fright- 
ened snort, and bolted — the steer’s horns just missing him, 
and that’s all! 

“ From this time on, the bull-fight was a procession, and 
a lively one at that. I never shall forget, if I live to be a 
hundred, the spectacle the Major presented as he tore around 
that arena! His charger was no longer running away, the 
old man had driven his spurs into the mustang’s flanks until 
they were fairly dripping with blood, and the frightened 
animal was recalling the speed of his youth as fast as he 
knew how ! 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


527 


“ Round and round they went, the Major in the lead, and 
the steer so close a second that no one dared fire a shot for 
fear of hitting* our postmaster! Never before nor since, has 
the United States postal service made such a record as it did 
that day ! 

“At one time, it seemed as if the g*allant bull-fig*hter 
would certainly be caught — his mustang swerved and almost 
unseated him ! He fell forward over the pommel of his saddle, 
however, and, wrapping his arms about his charger’s neck, 
his spindling legs being meanwhile coiled about the body of 
the animal, he continued his headlong charge — away from 
the foe! 

“During the first portion of this remarkable exhibition, 
the old Major was absolutely stricken dumb with fright, and, 
save the clashing of his trusty rapier upon his spurred heel, 
the snorting of the mustang and an occasional bellow from 
the steer, the exciting scene was as free from noise as far as 
the chief actors were concerned, as an old-fashioned funeral. 

“But the old man soon found his voice, and of all the 
roaring ever heard, his capped the climax : 

“‘Let down the bars, gentlemen! Let down the bars! 
Fo’ Gawd’s sake, suhs, let ’em down!’ he cried. 

“ ‘Kill ther bull, ole man! Kill him! Stick yer sord in 
’im! Now’s yer chance! Give it to ’im. Major!’ yelled the 
boys, meanwhile watching an opportunity for a shot. 

“ ‘Let down the bars, I say! let ’em down quick, or I’m 
a gonah, suah, subs!’ shrieked the Major. 

“ ‘ Ther bull might escape ! ’ somebody cried in reply. 

“ By this time the Major was fairly frothing at the mouth. 

“ ‘D — n the bull, suhs! D — n the bull! Let me out!’ he 
howled. 

“As a matter of fact, nobody dared let down the bars. 
The steer was constantly close behind the Major, and it 
seemed impossible to prevent the brute from escaping almost 
simultaneously with him. In case the bars could not have 
been put up quickly enough to prevent the furious animal’s 
escape, he would certainly have mixed up with the crowd. 

“The Major’s case seemed by this time to be a trifle 
dubious — indeed, had his friends not been of the stuff of 


528 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


which heroes are made, the old man would never have come 
out of that corral alive. 

“If he had only conducted his g-allant campaign in a 
little different manner, his embarrassment might have been 
speedily relieved. Instead of circling about near the fence, 
and thus giving his friends a chance for a point-blank volley 
at the steer, the old fool not only persistently kept away 
from us, but appeared to be circling about in a spiral fashion 
that was likely, sooner or later, to bring him plump against 
the steer in the middle of the corral. It was evident that 
something must be done, and done promptly. 

“Just as I had made up my mind that the Major was 
indeed, a ‘goner,’ I heard the voice of Jerry Mapleson above 
the shouts of the crowd. — 

“‘Come on, Charley!’ he cried, and over the fence and 
into the corral he went, a six-shooter in one hand, and a red 
bandana handkerchief in the other, with plucky little Charley 
Mason at his heels, carrying a rifle. The crowd, as soon 
as it caught sight of the two brave fellows, hurrahed like 
mad. 

“ The attention of the steer was at once diverted to Jerry 
and his lurid battle flag, and he very promptly charged on 
his new foe. Instead of getting out of the way, however, the 
brave chap actually stood his ground and emptied his pistol 
fairly in the face of the steer — with no effect other than to 
make the beast more furious than ever. In a second the 
steer was upon him, and down he went, narrowly escaping 
impalement on those terrible horns! 

“Jerry was knocked senseless, and the steer, turning 
about, was just in the act of charging back at his prostrate 
enemy, when ‘crack!’ rang Charley Mason’s rifle, and a ball 
fired at close range pierced the steer’s body where it was 
likely to do the most good— just behind his foreshoulder. 
The brute stopped stock-still for a second, tossing his mag- 
nificent head in the air with fiery spirit still unquenched, and 
then, with a torrent of blood gushing from his nostrils, 
pitched forward and fell upon the ground— an excellent arti- 
cle of prime beef, but no longer a foeman worthy of the 
Major’s trusty steel. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


529 


“The noise of the shooting* thoroug*hly demoralized the 
Major’s mustang*; he beg*an bucking*, and wound up by falling* 
with the old warrior, who, like his g*allant rescuer, Jerry, was 
knocked senseless! 

“Neither of the heroes of the occasion were seriously 
hurt, however. Jerry soon came to, and in a few moments 
the Major had recovered sufficiently to be able to walk. 

“The boys, however, insisted on carrying the old fellow 
to town in triumphal s.tate. To be sure, he had not conducted 
his exhibition on the hard and fast lines upon which he had 
planned it, but had he not given them a Spanish bull-fight? 
And was not the steer dead? And, better still, was not their 
dear old Major alive? 

“The celebration of the Major’s victory occupied some 
time, and it was fully a week before we ventured to talk to 
him about the fight — not that we apprehended hurting his 
feelings — his egotism was impregnable — but he was slow in 
recovering his faculty of speech. Our ‘ tanglefoot ’ was also 
‘ tangle-tongue.’ 

“I do not know how he finally squared himself with the 
boys, but he called upon me quite formally one evening, and, 
after a few preliminary ‘ looseners,’ in the way of large doses 
of the horse liniment that had been masquerading as whisky 
in my cabin, ever since my demijohn ran dry, broached the 
subject of our Fourth of July celebration: 

“ ‘By the way, Doctah,’ he said, ‘is it not an unfo’tunate 
thing, suh, that ouah mos’ cherished plans are so freq’ently 
upset by some cursed accident? Do yo’ know, suh, thet if 
ma infernal hawse hadn’t run away on the Fo’th, I would 
have given ouah guests an exhibition of bull fightin’ such as 
they nevah saw befo’? An’ then, suh, aftah ma desp’rate 
effo’ts to control the brute had met with success, to have ma 
own fren’s, not only rush in an’ rob me of the honah of killin’ 
the bull, but frighten ma hawse so that he threw me, suh— 
’twas too much, doctah, too much! In case I should evah 
give another exhibition, I shall sut’nly reques’ mo’ time fo’ 
prepa’ation, an’ I sut’nly shall expec’ to have a hawse that has 
been prop’ly trained, suh. It’s very emba’ssing to dis’point 
one’s fren’s, suh.’ 


530 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


‘“My dear Major,’ I replied, soothing-ly, ‘you are ack- 
nowledg’ed by everyone, to be the g’reatest authority of the 
age, on bull-fighting. No one doubts your ability, much less \ 

your courage, and we all appreciate the difficulties under 
which you labored. All who witnessed that affair on the 
Fourth, will agree that such a spectacle was never before 
seen — even in Spain. So let us drink to the success of the 
next bull-fight. My compliments, sir ! ’ 

“ ‘ Yo’ are very kind, I’m suah,’ said the Major, as, with 
a sigh, he set down his glass, ‘but yo’ do me too much honah, 
suh. Please remembah, howevah, that I am yo’ fren’, an’ 
the fren’ of yo’ fren’s, at all times, suh. In case yo’ should 
evah have any little affaihs of honah to adjust, I will info’m 
yo’, suh, that I am familyah with all the little co’tesies that 
should prevail between men of honah an’ courage, suh. An’ 
now, ma deah doctah, I will bid yo’ good-night, suh.’ ” 

“And, with the Major, I, too, will say ‘good-night.’” : 



THE PASSING OF MAJOR MERRIWETHER 


IV. 




So many years ago, 

Like golden threads thy 
glossy hair, 

Thy cheek with pink 
aglow* 

But now I see thee 
through the smoke, 
Of later life’s cigar, 

I just appreciate the joke, 
*Tis bleach and rouge 
you are* 





THE MAJOR OKDEKvS A RETREAT 



THE PASSING OF MAJOR MERRIWETHER, 


IV. 



HE doctor seemed more than usually 
thoughtful when I next saw him. 
f|| He had evidently come in from his 
weary rounds earlier than usual, 
for he had finished his dinner and 
was in the library smoking when I 
arrived. As I entered the door of 
his cheery sanctum, I found him sitting at the table, 
his head leaning upon his hand, and, as the hazy 
wreaths of smoke arose like fragrant incense from his 
hookah, he was gazing abstractedly at an anatomical chart 
that hung upon the wall. 

I waited a moment, silently watching that kindly-intel- 
lectual face upon which so many lines of care had developed, 
and noting with regret, that his hair and beard were rapidly 
becoming white as silver. At length he sighed, glanced up 
at the clock, and, noting the hour, turned expectantly toward 
the door, where he found me standing upon the threshold. I 
trust it was not self-conceit, but I fancied there was much of 
genial warmth in the smile with which he greeted me. 

“Well, I declare! — you’re here at last. I feared you 
were not coming; you are usually so prompt. Having my- 
self got in early this evening and my wife being out, the 
time has dragged most wearily, I assure you. I might have 
read an article or two, I suppose, while waiting, but I cannot 
read with any degree of profit or enjoyment, unless I have a 
straight-away course of an hour or so. As for killing time 
while waiting for some one — well, that’s an utter impossi- 
bility. 


536 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Pensive? Yes, rather. — I was musing- over certain 
impressions received from my work to-day. A case upon 
which I operated early this morning, put me into a reflective 
mood from which I have hardly yet recovered. 

“ What kind of a case ? Oh, ’twas a brain case — a fellow 
who had been kicked on the frontal region by a horse, some 
time ago. He had been treated by one of those so-called con- 
servative chaps, who sit down complacently beside a dying 
patient and wait for something to hatch. When they wait 
long enough, they usually succeed in hatching — an angel, or 
something of the sort, depending altogether on the poor devil 
of a patient’s theological politics, you know. 

“In the case under consideration, the conservative doctor 
succeeded in hatching a nice case of traumatic epilepsy — later 
on. Now, I don’t want to quarrel with so-called conservatism, 
but I would like to know what possible benefit that doctor 
expected his patient to derive from the pressure of a square 
yard — more or less — of depressed skull upon the frontal lobes 
of his brain. Did he depend upon the elasticity of the brain- 
matter to adapt itself to the new conditions? To be sure, the 
brain is more or less elastic and compressible, but, were it 
India rubber, jagged bone would be likely to wear holes in it. 
I don’t believe that medicine-man would apply the same rule 
to himself. Supposing he had a half ton of rock resting on 
his corns; do you believe he would wait for subsequent symp- 
toms before he would howl for somebody to lift the rock off 
his foot? Not a bit of it! 

“Some difference between the foot and the brain, you 
say? Yes, but because an injury to the brain doesn’t make 
a man squeal like a pig, is no reason why the organ should be 
abused; it’s good surgery to lift weights off it and pick splin- 
ters out of it, anyway. 

“ Do you know, my boy, that, to my mind, injuries of the 
cavities of the body are the stage upon which more comedies 
and more tragedies are enacted, than in any other field of 
surgery? Just think of a surgeon standing, chisel or knife in 
hand, over a compound fracture of the skull or an abdominal 
wound, and mouthing conservatism! 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


537 


“Yes, it is being* done to-day, this very hour, yea, this 
very minute! Shade of Hippocrates! — come back to earth, 
and see how nearly thou art up to date ! 

“Idiots! Why don’t some of these ‘conservatives’ un- 
derstand that the cavity is already open, and that conserva- 
tism is — well, it’s murder, that’s all. 

“While I was chiselling* away the roug*h bone that 
pressed upon that poor fellow’s brain, I couldn’t help thinking* 
that the org*an had a rig*ht to protest, even to the extent of 
epileptic fits — only it was the wrong* man who had ’em. 

“When I had loosened the adhesions about the fractured 
area, that poor imprisoned brain seemed to pulsate — yea, pal- 
pitate — for very joy. It’s no wonder the old-time fellows 
looked in the skull for the seat of the soul. Poor devils! 
They thoug*ht the pineal g*land was ‘ big* potatoes ’ in the soul 
business! Like some of our modern scientists, they g*ot 
thing*s down a little too fine. 

“The soul of man lies before us as soon as we open the 
living* skull! Bounding* with vivid life, seeming* to strug*g*le 
to free itself from its bony prison, master of all senses and 
possessor of none — there it lies, and we can feel it throb be- 
neath our fing*ers — see it beat before our very eyes! Bind it 
down, and we veg*etate; g*ive it exaltation of function, and we 
live in the rosy cloud-land of hope; push it too far, and the 
glare of insanity blinds us! 

“If brains were only not so much alike. — 

“ To think that the brilliancy of the genius, the depravity 
of the criminal and the stupidity of the dolt, strike the same 
level on the operating or post-mortem table! So much blood, 
so many ounces of gray and white matter, so many conduct- 
ing fibres, such and such an arrangement of convolutions — 
awfully prosy, isn’t it? 

“ Complexity and number of convolutions? 

“Oh, yes, that’s the saving clause. Their degree of de- 
velopment, too, is important. But, while we know that cer- 
tain differences are likely to exist between the cerebral con- 
volutions of a common thief and those of an intellectual giant, 
we are not yet able to predicate from the convolutions of 
any particular brain, the mental attributes of its owner with 


538 


OVER TH^: HOOKAH. 


any degree of accuracy. As for the size of the org’an, you 
probably remember that Daniel Webster’s brain, larg’e as it 
was, did not compare with that of a certain macrocephalic 
idiot! The soul of man ! Ah, me! how little we know about it! 

“But, my boy, we mustn’t forg-et the Major. He is a 
sensitive old chap and mig'ht resent it. Besides, the poor 
old man g’ets into serious trouble to-nig’ht, and we must take 
sufficient time to see him through it in due and proper form. ” 


“ It has been truly said, my boy, that love is the turning- 
point in the career of all men. Show me a romance in which 
the hero does not fall in love, and I will show you the philoso- 
pher’s stone. Everything goes on quite smoothly until the 
‘little blind god’ appears on the scene, and then there’s noth- 
ing but trouble ever after — until marriage or death pulls 
down the curtain and your principal actors disappear. It is 
through the gateway of love, therefore, that the author of 
romance must drive his chief characters off the field of action. 
Without the intervention of love, the drama of life — ‘as she 
is writ ’ — would go on forever. 

“Major Merriwether, however, was the last man in the 
world whom I expected to fall in love. His sublimity of self- 
conceit, his divine egotism, and his mature years, to say 
nothing of the whisky he had drunk — which would have 
knocked the romance out of a veritable Romeo — should have 
made an impregnable barrier to Cupid’s darts. 

“But our gallant Major was no exception to the rule 
that governs the lives of great men. His destiny finally 
overtook him and blighted his life — which, over-ripe as it was, 
still held fair hopes of vain-glorious exploits and barrels on 
barrels of ‘ red-eye ! ’ 

“ Love did not steal upon our hero with stealthy steps, 
nor unfold within his manly heart as blossoms forth the 
blushing rose. It came upon him as suddenly as springs the 
panther of those noble mountains that surrounded so many of 
his gallant deeds of arms — and with similarly disastrous 
results. 

“To say that his fellow townsmen were surprised and 
demoralized by the new and unexpected feature in the 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


539 


Major’s make-up, would be putting- it mildly. The whole 
town was thrown into consternation. Had an invasion of 
Apache Indians taken place, the boys could not have been 
more concerned, nor more anxious to org-anize a plan for 
defense. As was usual with them in all matters concerning- 
the Major, they finally concluded to treat the affair as a 
hug-e joke. The town winked humorously, and — sealed the 
Major’s doom, to the everlasting- sorrow and reg-ret of all 
concerned. — 

“On a pleasant evening- in the month of October follow- 
ing- the evfer-to-be-remembered day of the Spanish bull-fig-ht, a 
stranger came into town on the weekly stage from Placerville. 
He put up at the Miner’s Rest, and made arrangements for 
a few days’ sojourn among us. 

“The new-comer was an odd-looking chap, and there was 
much speculation among the boys as to ‘his game.’ Some 
allowed that he was a ‘ tin-horn sport ’ or a ‘ short-card ’ 
player who had found some other camp too warm for the 
exercise of his peculiar talents. Others, again, believed that 
he was looking for a location for a faro game. Several went 
to the other extreme and suggested that he might be a ‘ sky 
pilot.’ Jerry Mapes, however, said that he believed the fel- 
low was ‘some ole pill-garlic lookin’ fer er chance ter swing 
his shingle; but,’ said he, turning to me, ‘this ’ere reserva- 
shun is purty well pervided fer, an’ et’ll be ruther pore pickin’ 
fer enn}^ o’ these ’ere outsiders, less’n they’re lookin’ fer er 
scrimmage, which is purty d — d good pickin’ ’roun’hyar, eh, 
boys?’ 

“Personally, I rather leaned toward the theory that it 
was a preacher with whom we had to deal. There was a 
grave, subdued, dignified expression on his smooth-shaven 
face, that was in my opinion, sufficient to convict him on 
my charge, before any jury. We soon discovered, however, 
that we were all wrong. 

“During the sociable liquidation incidental to the usual 
process of getting acquainted that was instituted the very 
evening of our visitor’s arrival, he informed us that he was 
none other than ‘Mr. Henry Haskell, sir, sole proprietor, 
manager, treasurer and advance agent of “ Haskell’s great 


540 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


and only Perambulating- Varieties,” the g-reatest show, g-entle- 
men, that ever left the effete and unappreciative East, to dis- 
play its unparalleled mag-nificence before the disting-uished 
and intellectual citizens of the mig-hty West!’ 

“ He had come among- us, he said, to look over the g-round 
a little, and, if thing-s panned out satisfactorily, to make 
arrang-ements for bring-ing- his wonderful attraction to E . 

“Attractions were scarce in our town, and if Old Nick 
himself had come along- with -a show, he would have been 
received with open arms, so the boys didn’t ask for a bill of 
particulars from Mr. Haskell. He was a showman, could 
hold as much whisky without leaking- as the best of them, 
and what was better, he promised to have his g-reat and only 
variety show on the g-round within a fortnig-ht — with due 
allowance for bad weather and toug-h roads. 

“ So enthusiastic were our citizens, that a committee was 
appointed to assist in furthering- Mr. Haskell’s project, Dutch 
Bill, Charley Mason, a fellow whom, for obvious reasons, we 
used to call ‘Whisky Dick,’ and myself, being- selected to 
do the necessary honors. 

“Being a public-spirited citizen, I not only served, but 
officiated as chairman, although what I didn’t know about 
variety shows, would have made a volume larger than Web- 
ster’s Unabridged. But experienced or not, our committee 
did its duty, and by the time our visitor went after his show, 
we had a hall ready and the surrounding country thoroughly 
billed, for the forthcoming event. 

“ Would that we had known the sequence of our success- 
ful effort to assist in the entertainment of our fellow towns- 
men! 

“ The great show arrived, as per programme, the even- 
ing before the one selected for the opening performance. 
As was customary in their entertainment of visitors, the 
boys literally overwhelmed the troupe with hospitable atten- 
tions in which our standard ‘tarantula juice’ played its 
usual prominent role. 

“ The company of performers was not a large one. Mr. 
Haskell himself, it seemed, was a banjo soloist. He also 
sang a few comic songs, he informed us, and generally gave 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


541 


his celebrated version of Hamlet’s soliloquy, when he felt that 
he had a sufficiently intellig'ent audience. ‘ I shall certainly 
g’ive it here,’ he said, a statement that resulted in two or 
three more rounds of liquor. 

“ Haskell was supported by a little dried-up Irish lad by 
the name of Murphy, who, according- to his own account — 
rendered after the sixth round of drinks — could ‘bate inny 
lad in the tirritories, beg-orra, dancin’ a clog- or an Oirish 
rale!’ Haskell, it seemed, furnished the music during- 
Murphy’s performances — indeed, he was the entire orches- 
tra of the show. 

“In addition to the celebrated jig- and banjo artists, there 
were a couple of g-entlemen, who, the manag-er claimed, were 
the g-reatest acrobats and contortionists ever seen upon any 
stag-e. I don’t think this account was at all exag-g-erated, for 
they certainly took a few drops on their first evening- in 

E , that would have killed any g-ymnasts of less skill. 

There was a peculiar expression upon their faces, however, 
which sug-g-ested that they occasionally took a drop too much 
— and usually landed upon their noses! 

“Then there was ‘Professor’ Pranzini, ‘the g-reatest of 
living- prestidig-itators.’ This g-entleman was said to be an 
Italian, and his name was certainly sug-g-estive of the land of 
maccaroni and beautiful skies, but if he wasn’t a Mexican 
half-breed, I never saw one. Yet he was a g-reat juggler, all 
the same — he could turn a glass of whisky into a man with a 
facility I have never seen equalled! He performed this. great 
act repeatedly during the evening, and the same man ap- 
peared each time! Oh, he was uniformly smooth in his per- 
formances, Pranzini was ! 

“As our guests warmed up to the evening’s work, we 
learned that there was another treat in store for us. The 
ladies — two in number — whom we had observed disembark- 
ing from the stage in company with the distinguished per- 
formers that I have enumerated — were the most renowned 
artistes in their line in the world. The elder — Haskell’s wife, 
by the way — was the most famous iron-jawed woman on the 
American continent. Given a strap that would reach around 
the earth, and a place to stand on, she could double-discount 


542 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


the wildest dreams of old Archimedes himself. The younger 



female was the renowned danseiise and cantatrice — Mile. Bot- 
tini, beside whom Fanny Ellsler was a novice, Taglioni a 
counterfeit, and Jenny Lind a crow! Sing? Why, Patti in 
her palmiest days 
was not a circum- 
stance to that moun- 
tain skylark! 

“By the time we 
had our talented vis- 
itors ready for bed 
— and their prepara- 
tion was a most ex- 
pensive process of 
pickling — we had 
mastered the pro- 
gramme of the great 
and only show, fairly 
well. After putting 
our friends away for 
the night, we dis- 
persed, like orderly 
and sober citizens. 

“Mine host lo- 
cated all of our help- 
less victims in one 
room, as far away 
from the lady per- 
formers as possible, 
lest the latter be dis- 
turbed. He didn’t 
want to put Haskell 

, T.- • PRESTIDIGITATION EXTRAORDINARY. 

too near his iron- 

jawed wife, fearing there might be a necessity of postponing 
the show on account of the death of the manager. After all, 
however, the performance was postponed until the second 
day after our welcoming reception. Our hospitality was too 
much, even for our friend the prestidigitator. He saw some 
things for a few hours, that even he couldn’t make disappear — 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


543 



THEY WOULD NOT DISAPPEAR. 


nor was their appearance a 
matter of volition with him 
by any means; they came 
as unbidden and unwelcome 
g'uests. 

‘‘ The eventful evening 
of the performance of ‘ Has- 
kell’s Perambulating Varie- 
ties ’ arrived on schedule 
time, and found a large and 
appreciative audience await- 
ing the rise of the curtain in 
a huge canvas-roofed shed, 
that had been constructed 
regardless of expense, espe- 
cially for the wonderful and 
unrivalled show. 

“ I have seen more elab- 
orate temples of histrionic 
art, but I must acknowl- 
edge that I never attended a 
performance in which the 
actors blended so harmoni- 
ously with their surround- 
ings as on this occasion. 

“The performers cer- 
tainly should have been well 
satisfied with their audi- 
ence, for each individual had 
evidently determined to get 
the full value of the admis- 
sion fee, by being enter- 
tained from the beginning 
to the end of the show. To 
be sure, Haskell’s ancient 
banjo was out of tune, and 
his voice sounded like the 
wail of a love-lorn, bilious cat, 
but one should notexpect too 


544 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


much talent in one individual. Certain it is, that our g-enial 
manag'er’s rendition of Hamlet’s soliloquy was not only orig*- 
inal, but as emotional as the remote effects of our camp 
whisky could make it. Really, one actually forg’ot the nasal 
twang- with which it was rendered! For my own part, while 
I could not forg-et the probable relation of enlarg-ed tonsils or 
a nasal polypus, to Haskell’s peculiar intonation, I doubt 
whether Henry Irving- could have done better — time, place, 
stag-e, audience and our preliminary reception taken into 
consideration. 

“ The Major occupied a seat of honor close to the stag-e, 
but was hardly as attentive an auditor as could have been 
desired — he was conspicuously asleep most of the time. The 
boys, however, were disposed to allow the old man to enjoy 
the performance after his own fashion, so he was not dis- 
turbed for some time. Even when his vibrating snore bade 
fair to smother the orchestra, his friends permitted him to go 
on with his soul-harrowing imitation of a steam calliope. 

“The wonderful acrobats, the marvelous expositor of 
the black art, and the terpsichorean prodigy — Murphy — 
came and went, receiving most vociferous applause, but the 
Major went on with his work as serenely as though variety 
troupes were an every-day occurrence with him. 

“ The iron-jawed lady now appeared and began her re- 
markable exhibition. The boys, being gallant, thought the 
time for awakening the Major had arrived, and those sit- 
ting nearest him, began a series of systematic punchings and 
pinchings that finally succeeded in arousing the old war- 
rior. 

“The Major was confessedly a gallant man, but the 
maxillary wonder did not long hold his attention. He sat 
there blinking like a sleepy old owl for a minute or two, and 
then dropped back into his musical slumber, while the boys 
gave up in despair. 

“The lady with the iron jaw finally disappeared, and 
after a brief intermission — during which Haskell’s banjo 
almost drove the audience crazy — the star of the evening 
appeared, and was welcomed with a tremendous hand-clap- 
ping suggestive of a pistol volley. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


545 


“ Mile. Bottini was not a beauty. Nature had been by 
no means liberal in her adornment, but she was young enough 
to impress the boys, and dressed in a fashion that would have 
created an impression anywhere — on or off the stage. 

“A critical observer would have noticed that her hair was 
the color of well-washed fine-cut tobacco, and her eyes of a 
grayish-green hue, framed by those characteristically red 
and tumefied lids so often seen in bleary blondes. Scrofula, 
dissipation and weeping, may all have had their influence in 
the formation of the lights and shades of those dreamy orbs 
— but dreamy they certainly were; their lustre was that of 
the eyes of a dead mackerel. 

“The same critical observer might have taken exception 
to the contour of her face; it was a bit too angular — the nose 
too Romanesque and the chin too pointed, to conform strictly 
to the ideal. Her complexion too, was not unexceptionable — 
there was a ‘ freckles smothered in cream ’ quality about it, 
to which the truly artistic critic would certainly have objected. 

“I do not wish to carry my analysis beyond the bounds 
of strictest propriety, but the man who could enthuse over 
the female form divine as exemplified by Mile. Bottini, must 
either be un-artistic, or a miner, upon whose vision beauty 
has not dawned for many moons. 

“Her scrawny neck — suggestive of that of a Christmas 
turkey after it has been picked — and those skinny arms, 
spoke for themselves in terms of accentuation that could not 
be mistaken. 

“But our divinity had other charms, which her gorgeous 
though somewhat scanty costume ‘ half concealed and yet 
revealed ’ to our admiring gaze. Those limbs! — Would I had 
power to describe their many points of beauty ! In the first 
place they were number tens — her limbs, not her feet; they 
were only sevens. As the lady herself was about a number 
five, there seemed to be a lack of harmony somewhere. 

“I thought I understood the anatomical discord, and 
called the attention of my friend Mapes, who sat next to me, 
to sundry tumorous irregularities here and there upon those 
wonderful legs. I suggested inequalities of upholstering, 
but Jerry scornfully informed me that dancers always had 


546 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


very muscular lower extremities. He seemed astonished 
and g^rieved at my scientific ig’norance, so I said nothing* 
more upon the subject. It was evident that my opinion 
weig*hed but little in the balance with Mile. Bottini’s popu- 
larity. 

“I suppose that some might quarrel with the view that a 
man is a slave to his destiny, but if the Major’s unlucky star 
was not in the ascendant that night — well, then there is no 
explanation for his conduct. He had slept throughout almost 
the entire performance, and there was no earthly reason why 
he should have awakened when he did, unless the Fates w*ere 
pursuing him. Whatever the explanation may have been, 
however, the old man awoke just after the entree of our star. 

“Whether the half-dreamy state that follows and pre- 
cedes our slumbers, made the Major’s mind susceptible to 
even the suggestion of female beauty, I do not know, but no 
effort was now required to keep him awake. He sprang to 
his feet and stood gazing at the charming Bottini, as if en- 
tranced. Not a note of her rasping soprano voice, not a 
movement of those tripping feet, escaped him. And when 
the time for applause came, the Major’s bony hands and 
stentorian voice made the very walls vibrate. 

“With the innocent coyness of her craft, the object of 
the Major’s admiration appreciated the situation, and gave 
the Major a smile such as would have made a much less 
valiant knight than he, willing to die with his boots on, if 
need be — in behalf of fair woman. 

“Now, our boys were square fellows, and while many a 
heart beneath that canvas had been throbbing in unison with 
the pattering of Bottini’s fairy feet, there was not a man 
among them who would have quarreled with the Major over 
his evident conquest. They took their heartaches home and 
— pickled them. 

“The performance over, the boys left for their usual 
haunts, some going home, as did a few of our visitors from 
neighboring camps, but the majority scattering about among 
our various saloons and gambling houses. 

“It so happened that Jerry Mapes, the Major and myself, 
became separated from the rest of the crowd, hence we walked 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


547 



along together toward home. The Major had little to say — 
for once he was subdued and reticent. It was evident that 

our gallant postmaster was hard 
hit ! Jerry and I apparently 
agreed on this point, judging 
from the significant looks he 
gave me from time to time. We 
kept our own counsel, however, 


A DECIDED IMPRESSION. 


and awaited the Major’s pleasure. I felt quite certain that 
the old man would himself open up the subject of the show 
before we left him, and I therefore did not push matters. 


548 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“When we arrived at Hewlett’s place, Jerry had developed 
a thirst that was prodig'ious, and sug’g’ested that we enter 
and have something*. To our astonishment, the Major de- 
murred at first, and it was only upon strenuous urg^ing^ that 
we succeeded in g*etting him into the saloon — and then, to 
our consternation, he refused to drink! 

“ Matters were certainly g*rowing* serious with our mili- 
tary friend. That Jerry thoug*ht so, was evident from his 
somewhat troubled, bewildered expression. When he finally 
g*ave up urg-ing* the old man to drink, 
as a hopeless task, his face was a 
study in serio-comedy. 

“The Major’s new-born preju- 
dice, however, evidently ^ did not 
extend to doctors’ offices — which 
shows that he did not always choose 
the lesser of two evils. He readily 
consented to enter my humble quar- 
ters and watch Jerry and me take a 
nig*ht cap. His sudden reform 
lasted only until the aroma of that 
hair-raising, soul-consuming liquor 
reached his nostrils — and then he 
weakened, and allowed that the air 
was somewhat chilly and damp, and 
a little whisky might be a good thing 
— in the way of preventive medica- 
tion. What he was trying to pre- 
vent, I don’t know, but I suspect it must have been rattle- 
snake bites, judging by the huge doses he took. 

“The Major’s system of prophylaxis was much like that 
of a clever Indian on the Sioux Reservation. The govern- 
ment prudently allowed no whisky to be sold to the Indians 
save for medicinal purposes. One morning a big buck put 
in his appearance at the agency, with a huge demijohn. — 

“‘Ugh!’ he said, ‘Big Injun! heap sick, want whisky!’ 

“‘What’s the matter with you, Lo?’ asked the agency 
doctor. 

“ ‘ Ugh ! ’ said Lo, ‘ snake bite um. ’ 



OVER THE HOOKAH. 


549 


“‘Well,’ said the doctor, ‘how much whisky do you 
want?’ 

“ ‘ Four quarts!’ replied the artless child of the prairies. 
“ ‘ Four quarts?’ said the doctor,in amazement. 

“‘Huh! huh! four quarts!’ said the buck, ‘heap big’ 
Injun! h — 1 big* snake! plenty heap rattles!’ ’’ 


• “ Under the mellowing- influence of my hospitality, the 
Major rapidly became at least a semblance of his old self 
again. With his transformation he became once more the 
g-enial companion, exuberant in spirits and overwhelming in 
his confidences. Most gently did we lead his thoughts back 
to the shrine before which he had laid his heart of hearts. 
Strong as was his new passion; it was no match for the cup of 
cheer with which my larder was so bountifully supplied! 
That fiery stuff would have made a prospective bridegroom 
forget his engagement, to say nothing of disturbing a senti- 
mental attachment as recent as was our gallant Major’s! 

“ ‘Do you know. Major,’ I said, as I slyly poked the old 
man in the short ribs, ‘that you are a sly old dog? I have 
always thought that you were a warrior of the old school. 
I did not know that you were addicted to that modern de- 
moralizing addition to the art of war — flirtation. Why, sir, 
if you were a West Pointer, instead of a man who has carved 
his way to name and fame with his own sturdy sword, I 
might understand it, but for you to conduct yourself as you 
have this evening is simply astonishing! Don’t you realize, 
sir, that trifling with the tender affections of a young and 
innocent female is a very serious matter?’ 

“ ‘ W’y, ma deah doctah, I ha’dly think I comprehend 
yo’, suh!’ blushingly replied the Major. ‘ Yo’ are speakin’ 
in rathah puzzlin’ terms, suh.’ 

“ ‘ Now, see here, my dear Major, it cannot be possible 
that the attention which was lavished upon you by Mile. Bottini 
this evening, was entirely unsolicited by you. I am fully 
aware, sir, that you are a man of great culture and very im- 
posing presence, but I cannot believe it possible that a lady 
of such varied charms, and so much innate modesty, could 


550 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


deliberately throw herself at you, as she most assuredly did 
at this evening-’s performance.’ 

“ ‘ Now, ma deah doctah, yo’ are tryin’ to flattah me, I’m 
suah, an’ yo’ sut’nly emba’ss me, suh. I’m suah yo’ are 
mistaken, suh; I’m quite suah yo’ are!’ said the old g-allant, 
with a fine show of embarrassment. 

“ ‘Mistaken?’ I replied, ‘Not the least bit in the world. 
But what surprises me, sir, is that a man of your ag'e and 
discretion, should be so versed in the delicate art of flirtation 
as to make a conquest of so mag’nificent a creature under the 
very eyes of men who are so many years your junior, and 
who, moreover, have undoubtedly cultivated the fair sex 
much more assiduously than yourself. 

“ ‘ The opportunities for cultivation of the highest art of 
flirtation and the conquest of the female heart, are by no 
means extensive in this camp, and I’m sure that your feats of 
arms in past years, must have left you very little time to pour 
honeyed words into the ears of listening fair. I fear, my dear 
sir, that your European trip was not entirely devoted to hob- 
nobbing with crowned heads — you gay old lady-killer you!’ ” 

“ ‘Well, gentlemen,’ said the Major, as he drew himself 
up until he almost bumped a hole in my roof — there was no 
ceiling — ‘I mus’ confess that I did notice an appa’ent pref ’unce 
fo’ ma consida’ation on the pa’t of the young lady whom yo’ 
mention. I was in hopes, suhs, that yo’ all would not observe 
a mattah of such triflin’ impo’tance. It is true, gentlemen, 
that I have arrived at a somewhat matuah age, but yo’ mus’ 
remembah, suhs, that manly attractions ripen with advancin’ 
yeahs. Was it not, ah — Lama’tine, who observed that swift 
runnin’ sap an’ shiftin’ shades were the attributes of the 
young tree, but that there was mo’ fiah in the heart of a 
sturdy old oak? 

“ ‘ Wall, Major,’ Jerry remarked, ‘ if thet ole feller Lam- 
merteen, er whut ever ye call ’im, hed hed a few ole sogers 
like yerself ter study, he’d er bin posted on fires in ther 
woods, ter say nuthin’ uv a ole oak, eh. Doc?’ 

“ ‘Ah, my dear Jerry !’ I said, ‘I fear that the woods are 
on fire in the Major’s case. I more than half believe— nay, I 
am sure that this affair is not as one-sided as we at first 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


551 


suspected. I am really convinced that our g-allant Major is 
desperately in love with the fair artiste. There must be 
something in love at first sight, after all. It seems to me, how- 
ever, Jerry, that congratulations are due the Major. He has 
certainly displayed most excellent taste. Indeed, I have 
never seen a more beautiful and talented creature. Alas! 
Jerry, I believe the Major is right, we of a younger genera- 
tion are not in the race with such men as he. They have not 
only superior attractions, but the ripened taste of the exper- 
ienced connoisseur .'' — 

“It was Thackeray, was it not, my boy, who said, in his 
‘Age of Wisdom ’ — 

‘ Curly g-old locks cover foolish brains, 

Billing- and cooing- are all your cheer, 

Sig-hing-, and sing-ing- of midnig-ht strains 
Under Bonnybell’s window panes. 

Wait till you’ve come to forty year ! 

‘ Forty times over let Michaelmas pass — 

Grizzling- hair the brain doth clear. 

Then you’ll know the worth of a lass ; 

Then you’ll know that a boy is an ass. 

Once you have come to forty year. ’ 

“Had Thackeray not written the very sentiment I wanted, 
I should have endeavored to compose something similar, even 
though not so beautiful, and dedicated it to the memory of 
Major Merriwether. — 

“Jerry agreed with me, as to the Major’s finesse in cap- 
tivating our queen of the stage, and allowed that the boys 
were ‘jealus ’nuff ter shoot ennybody but ther Major, on sight. 
An’ I dunno,’ said he, with a comical wink, ‘but whut some 
uv ther boys would er tackled him, ef he wuzn’t so handy with 
his shooter. Ye see. Doc, thar aint nobody ’roun’ hyar, ez 
likes ter mix up with ther Major et enny time, an’ I’m shore 
we air goin’ ter be keerful when thar’s er lady in ther case.’ 

“By this time, the Major had become so inflated with 
pride and self-satisfaction, that he resembled a vain old 
turkey-cock. — 

“ ‘ W’y, ma deah suhs, yo’ sut’nly flattah me, but I can 
assuah yo’ that yo’ emba’ss me quite as much as yo’ flattah 


552 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


me! To be hones’ with yo’, I b’lieve, masef, that I am to be 
congratulated, suhs. The lady is the mos’ beaut’ful creatuah 
I evah saw, suhs, an’ I sut’nly think that she looked upon ma 
admirin’ attention with some favah this evenin’. I should 
regret exceedin’ly, any bittah feelin’s on the pa’tof ma fellah 
cit’zens, suhs, but I assuah yo’, gentlemen, that I stan’ ready 
to champion the lady’s cause an’ to hold out fo’ ma own rights 
in this affaih, at all times an’ undah all circumstances, as a 
gentleman should, suhs! 

“ ‘I trust that ma fellah cit’zens will be discreet in this 
mattah, suhs, but I shall sutn’ly stan’ no foolishness, even on 
the pa’t of ma fren’s. The lady has the right to bestow her 
attentions on anyone she pleases, suhs, an’ if I happen to be 
the objec’ of her buddin’ affections, that, suhs, is her affaih 
— an’ mine !’ 

“As the Major delivered himself of this peroration, he 
looked the blood-thirsty fire-eater, through and through. 

“‘Thet’s right, Maje!’ said Jerry, ‘an’ me an’ Doc, 
hyar, ’ll stan’ right by ye in enny little erfair ye mout git 
inter. With me fer yer second, an’ Doc ter look arter ther 
wounded, y’u aint likely ter hev er heap er trubble ’round 
hyar, you bet!’ 

“‘Well, Major,’ I said, ‘we will have one more bumper 
to the health of the peerless Bottini, and then we must all go 
to bed.’ 

“The bumper having been drunk, our little party broke 
up. Jerry meandered homeward to peaceful and contented 
slumber, the Major retired to the post-office to dream of 
Bottini, the magnificent, while I — well, I dreamed that I was 
cutting off several sections of legs and arms for the Major 
on the field of honor, and trimming him down to decent pro- 
portions.” 


“The ‘Perambulating Varieties’ was billed for two per- 
formances in E . The programme of the second, was to 

be somewhat different from that of the opening night, hence 
the genial Mr. Haskell expected quite as large an attendance 
as at the first performance. In this he was not disappointed, 
for, according to all accounts, everybody again turned out in 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


553 


force. As Jerry Mapes expressed it, ‘ Thar mout be better 
shows than ole Haskell’s, but then, erg’in, thar mout be wuss, 
an’ ez ther boys hedn’t seed much op’ry lately, they jes’ 
nachully made ther most er ther thing- an’ turned out g-ood 
an’ strong-.’ 

“I was not present at the second performance — a miner 
with a broken leg- furnished a rival attraction that was too 
urgent and too tempting to be resisted — far more tempting, 
in fact, than the prospective view of Mile. Bottini’s bunchy, 
but none the less surgically-sound, extremities. 

“ The Major, I was informed, was in his seat of the 
previous evening, bright and early — as was becoming in so 
gallant a swain. No love-lorn, callow youth could have been 
more faithful — or better rewarded. 

“Bottini, it seems, had been making inquiries regarding 
her all-too-ardent admirer, and had learned what an import- 
ant individual he really was. The fair creature was more 
captivating than ever— she fairly beamed upon the Major! 
Others saw her divine dancing; others heard her wonderful 
voice, but ’twas for Major Merriwether alone that she sang; 
'twas for him alone that her fairy feet twinkled through the 
mazes of her bewildering repertoire of dances; ’twas for him 
alone that she lived, breathed and palpitated; ’twas for him 
she — well, she saw how the land lay as well as any one in the 
audience, and used her powers of captivation to the very best 
advantage. And she was no novice, either — she was a rare 
example of what an energetic, progressive woman can do, in 
spite of any and all handicaps that Nature may impose upon 
her. 

“At the conclusion of the performance, the Major avoided*'^ 
even his friend Mapes, much to that gentleman’s discomfiture. 
Some of the boys observed the old man dodging along past 
the saloons toward the post-ofiice, and marvelled much at the 
change that had taken place in him. 

“According to Jerry, some of the Major’s, friends 
came to the conclusion that the fair Bottini had turned th-e 
old man’s head — which was already impaired by our camp 
whisky — so completely, that he had gone daft and had even 
forgotten his favorite beverage. 


554 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“As the old man was still stag-g-ering- next morning-, 
under the load of private stock that he had consumed the 
night before, it was evident that he had recovered his thirst- 
inspiring recollection as soon as he came within range of his 
own demijohn. 

“At a solemn conference held at the Minerva that night 
after the show, it was resolved that the matter was no longer 
a joke — the Major was in imminent danger, and something 
must be done ! 

“To be sure, the old fellow had not even spoken to the 
object of his adoration, as yet, but that was only a question 
of time, and if he conducted himself so peculiarly on so slight 
an acquaintance, there was no telling what might happen, 
when the fair temptress had an opportunity to exert her 
wiles upon him to the best advantage. 

“ ‘ W’y,’ said Jerry Mapes, ‘ ther d — d ole fool mout take 
er notion ter jes’ mosey erway, arter thet woman, an’ thet ud 
never do! I tell yer whut, boys, ther prosper ’ty uv this ’ere 
town is in danger, an’ we’ve got ter look out. We kaint ’low 
ther pore ole Major’s innercent affeckshuns ter be trifled 
with, an’ we’ve got ter stop this ’ere little game somehow?' 

“It was finally decided that the danger would, after all, 
be but short-lived. The variety troupe was to leave town the 
following day, and if the Major could only be kept in a bliss- 
fully intoxicated condition until the fair one’s departure, all 
would be well. She was but a passing fantasy of the old 
man’s much-abused brain, and was not likely to make a last- 
ing impression upon him. 

“ A committee was accordingly appointed for the purpose 
of haunting the old man until the departure of Haskell and his 
attractions — Jerry Mapes himself officiating as one of the 
delegation. 

“ There was no great difficulty in carrying out the plans 
of the committee. The Major was pretty well ‘corned’ when 
the boys found him next morning, and the subsequent treat- 
ment was a very simple process of piling Pelion upon Ossa. 
The boys were gleeful over the success of their scheme — by 
dinner time the Major had forgotten the very existence of the 
object of his fancy. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


555 


“ But a little circumstance that occurred during- the after- 
noon, completely upset the committee’s calculations. A ter- 
rific rain storm blew up, and long before evening- came, it was 
evident that there was no hope of the arrival of the usual 
stag-e, for that day at least. Our town was small, and received 
very little attention from the stag-e company in bad weather. 

“ The awful truth at leng-th dawned upon the boys — Mile. 
Bottini couldn’t g-et out of town if she would! 

“ ‘H — n sich luck!’ quoth Jerry, ‘I spose we’ll be tied up 
hyar fer a hull week! No stage, no letters, no nuthin’ — an’ 
thet d— d variety show locked in hyar with us! Wall, ef thet 
aint dead-tough luck, then I dunno whut in h — 1 tough luck is.’ 

“Jerry was right; it was fully ten days before the 
weather and roads would permit our now unwelcome visitors 
to depart. 

“ Here was a quandary ! It would hardly do to keep the 
Major drunk all the time — his recent illness was still fresh 
in the minds of his fellow townsmen. His intimates knew 
my professional opinion of the probable results of another 
attack of jim-jams. There was only one thing to be done 
and that was to call further counsel, and I was unfortunately 
selected. 

“ The committee waited on me fro for7na^ and my advice 
in the emergency was most earnestly asked for. The case 
was by no means a novel one; I had heard of many such, but 
I had never been called to attend one, hence my knowledge of 
the remedies for such a psycho-cardiac disturbance as was 
j ust then threatening the destruction of my friend, the Major, 
was rather meager. Instead of being perfectly frank, how- 
ever, and confessing my inability to assist in stopping the 
Major in his downward career, I allowed my public spirit to 
get the better of my professional discretion — to the utter ruin 
of the poor old man, as will appear later. 

“After some thoughtful deliberation, I said, ‘Gentlemen, 
I believe our friend, the Major, can only be cured by making 
him realize the absurdity of falling in love with a public char- 
acter of such uncertain charms and still more uncertain 
reputation. The old man, I suspect, has more education and 
refinement than you have ever given him credit for, and I am 


556 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


sure that if we can but get the case before him in just the 
right way, we will be able to convince him of his folly, without 
much difficulty. I am certain that the infatuation which the 
Major has manifested for our fair visitor, is only another 
phase of the overdone gallantry of the old man. It is the 
sentimental adoration of a modern knight errant, whose 
romantic ideas are centered upon Mile. Bottini, for want of 
a worthier object.’ ” 

“ ‘ Wall, Doc,’ said Jerry, ‘ Yer talkin’ er little too much 
like er book fer us fellers ter ketch holt uv whut yer sayin’, 
but I reckon we kin toiler yer drift. Yore idee, ez near ez I 
kin surround it, is ter kinder critercise ther gal, an’ make th’ 
ole man ershamed uv hisself.’ 

“ ‘ Well, yes,’ I replied, ‘ that is essentially my plan.’ 

“‘Wall, Doc,’ said Jerry, grinningly, ‘yore idee is all 
right, only yer fergittin’ one pint.’ 

“ ‘ And what is that ? ’ I asked. 

“ ‘ W’y, th’ ole Major is er fire-eater frum ’way back, an’ 
some on us is likely ter hev er fight on his ban’s.’ 

“‘The very thing, Jerry! I had not thought of that! 
There’s a trap that the old man will fall into sure. Let’s 
give him a chance for one of those ‘affaihs of honah, suh,’ 
that he brags so much about! 

“ Let a party of the boys draw him into conversation, and, 
during it’s progress, have somebody, and it matters not who, 
make a few disparaging remarks about the fair Bottini. With 
you to egg the old man on, we are sure to hear something 
drop. The old chap’s Quixotic notions may lead him to do 
what his lack of courage would ordinarily prevent. With a 
duel on his hands, even though it be a ‘fake,’ his chivalric 
ambition will be gratified— temporarily at least. Certain it 
is that we can scare Bottini out of his mind till she gets out of 
town ! ’ 

“‘By ther gre’t etarnal, boys!’ exclaimed Jerry, ‘Doc, 
hyar, hez got er gre’t head on ’im. Book lamin’ an’ boss 
sense don’t alius go tergether, but he’s got ’em both, ye kin 
jes’ bet on thet! Now, ther nex’ question is, who ter git fer 
ther trajucer uv ther but’ful Boteeny.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


557 


“‘If you will permit me to make a sug-g-estion, g-entle- 
men, ’ I said, ‘I would advise you to g’et some strang*er to 
assume the role of the villain in our comedy drama. The 
Major would hardly care to challeng’e one of his own friends 
— the more especially as he knows the shooting* credentials 
of all his fellow citizens. He would hardly hesitate to call out 
a tenderfoot, however, for experience has taug*ht him that the 
boys can be relied on to see him throug*h. A duel is a little 
different from your impromptu shooting* matinees, but it will 
be interesting* to see how far we can carry the affair, before 
the Major crawls out, as he certainly will do. Indeed, we 
may have a chance to observe a new and orig*inal method of 
evading* the issue. 

“ ‘From what I have learned of the class of persons who 
compose the average strolling company of histrionic artists, I 
infer that they are always open to engagements in which 
there is likely to be profit. Now, I fancy that our quondam 
friend, Pranzini, the sleight-of-hand performer, would be just 
the man for our purpose. As disappearing is right in his 
line, it will not be at all dishonorable for him to vanish from 
the battle-field, if the Major goes into the affair too earnestly. 
I would suggest, therefore, that you call on Pranzini and 
make such terms with him as you may see fit. I will myself 
drop into the hotel this evening, and will engage to bring the 
Major with me. I leave the rest to your own ingenuity, 
assuring you that I will further the scheme in any way that 
I can. ’ 

“ Evening arrived, and I proceeded to call upon my friend 
the Major, for the nefarious purpose of persuading him to 
accompany me to the hotel — in accordance with the plan of 
campaign that the boys and myself had mapped out. 

“There was little difficulty in fulfilling my part of the 
arrangement. I found the Major in the act of applying the 
finishing touches to an elaborate toilet. It was hardly neces- 
sary for me to inquire the reason for his gorgeousness of 
apparel. It was evident that he was preparing to make a call 
at the hotel on his own account; it was also apparent that he 
was not anxious to receive callers — I fancied that his face 
elongated somewhat as I entered his quarters. 


558 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ ‘Ah, ma deah doctah, I’m g’lad to see yo’, suh, but I’m 
sorry to say that I have a little eng’agement which will pre- 
vent me from enta’tainin’ yo’ fo’ any length of time, suh.’ 

“‘It was hardly necessary to state that you had an en- 
gagement, my dear Major,’ I replied. ‘It is very evident 
from your magnificent toilet, that you have an affair of con- 
siderable importance upon your hands. I am inclined to 
believe, moreover, that there is a lady in the case. You are 
certainly preparing yourself with an elaborateness of detail, 
which is — well, suspicious, to say the least.’ 

“‘Well, suh,’ replied the Major, ‘to be frank with yo’, 
suh, I was contemplatin’ an evenin’ call on a lady of ma 
’quaintance, suh.’ 

“ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I am not much of a ladies’ man, myself, 
but I nevertheless appreciate the fact that affairs of the 
heart must take precedence of all other interests. Excuses 
are therefore unnecessary, the more especially as it is not 
my intention to tarry for any length of time. I simply 
dropped in to see whether you were going toward the hotel 
this evening. As my professional duties call me in that 
direction, I thought it would be very agreeable to have your 
company. If I am not mistaken, sir, your destination is sim- 
ilar to my own, for I strongly suspect that I know the charm- 
ing lady who is to be the recipient of your evening call. If you 
have no objections, therefore, we will go to the hotel together. ’ 

“ ‘Ah, ma deah doctah, yo’ are a mos’ rema’kable man, 
suh. Yo’ are almos’ clevah ’nuff to read one’s mind, suh. 
As a mattah of fact, I was thinkin’ of callin’ upon the dis- 
tinguished artiste^ Mile. Bottini. The charmin’ creatuah, I 
unda’stan’, has been compelled to sojo’n a little while longah 
in ouah midst, on account of the inclemency of the wethah, 
an’ I was about to pay ma respects to her. I assuah yo’, suh, 
that I shall be mos’ highly honahed by yo’ comp’ny as far as 
the hotel.’ 

“The gallant Major’s toilet having been completed, we 
strolled as leisurely as the weather would permit, toward 
the hotel, conversing meanwhile upon the multitudinous 
charms and extraordinary histrionic ability of the object of 
his adoration. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


559 


“ Knowing, as I did, the programme that had been pre- 
pared for the Major’s edification, I was more than enthusiastic 
in my encomiums of the peerless beauty who had so disturbed 
the Major’s emotional centers — to say nothing of the demorali- 
zation of the peace and quiet of our little community. You 
may be assured that Mile. Bottini’s charms lost nothing at 
my hands. 

“By the time we arrived at the Miner’s Rest, the Major’s 
mind was in the seventh heaven of ecstatic admiration of his 
adored one. He was in that mental condition which impels an 
ardent lovqr to seek occasion to lay down his life for the delec- 
tation of the object of his affections. It was hardly probable 
that the lady in this particular case would herself demand so 
great a sacrifice upon the Major’s part. Indeed, if the plan 
that we had arranged was successful, it was doubtful whether 
she in person would ever get an opportunity of putting his 
ardent passion to the test. It was necessary, however, to 
have the temperature of the Major’s blood elevated a few de- 
grees above the normal, in order to insure the successful 
performance of the little programme of which I was to be, in 
a certain sense, the general manager. 

“Arriving at the hotel, the Major showed a disposition 
to dispense with my entertaining society — and protecting 
umbrella. 

“ ‘ Now, doctah,’ he said, ‘ I hope yo’ will excuse me, suh, 
it’s rathah late, an’ I do not desiah to emba’ss ma lady fren’ 
by callin’ at an unseemly houah.’ 

“‘Why, my dear Major,’ I replied, ‘I couldn’t possibly 
think of allowing you to leave me without a social drink. 
You must come in and join me ! ’ 

“‘Really, I hope yo’ will excuse me, suh,’ said he, ‘it’s 
ha’dly propah to indulge in intoxicatin’ liq’ah befo’ callin’ 
’pon a lady, suh.’ 

“ ‘Quite true, sir,’ I answered, ‘I agree with your prop- 
osition as a general principle; it is, however, hardly necessary 
to be so conventional here in the West, and I am sure that 
you would not be so discourteous to a friend as to refuse to 
drink with me. Why, sir, I should consider it an unpardom 
able affront, did you not allow me the opportunity of drinking 


560 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


the health of your charmer. You certainly cannot decline to 
join me in so praiseworthy an object. Besides, Major, I am 
satisfied that the extraordinary conversational talent which 
you possess, will receive an added brilliancy, from a moderate 
indulg-ence in that key which unlocks all lang'uag’es. You 
are fascinating-, I will admit, upon all occasions, but with 
a moderate amount of stimulation, you should be abso- 
lutely irresistible. ‘Come now, old fellow!’ I said, taking- 
him by the arm, ‘let us g-o in; we have already occupied time 
enough to have enabled us to surround several drinks; and 
economy of time, sir, while commendable on all occasions, is 
especially so when the social cup is in prospect!’ 

“ The Major no longer resisted, but accompanied me into 
the hotel bar-room. The boys were expectantly awaiting 
our arrival, judging by the knowing looks that were ex- 
changed as we entered. 

“ ‘ Come, boys,’ I said, ‘and join me in a little drink.’ 

“Everybody in the room — with a celerity born of exper- 
ience — stepped briskly up to the bar, and proceeded to 
nominate the particular form in which his portion of liquid 
death should be dispensed. I noticed that the distinguished 
Professor Pranzini, was among the crowd. It was evident 
that Jerry had followed my suggestion. 

“After everybody had been supplied with liquor, I 
turned to my companions and said, ‘ Gentlemen, I desire to 
propose a toast, complimentary to a distinguished citizen of 
this town, whom we all admire and respect. There is no 
more gallant man in the world than our postmaster — the dis- 
tinguished Major Merriwether. A toast to any lady is always 
a compliment to a gentleman of his qualifications, but to make 
the compliment more personal in its application, I desire to 
propose the health of the charming Mile. Bottini, the cele- 
brated artiste who has for several days honored our community 
with her presence, and who has so highly entertained us by 
her extraordinary histrionic ability. 

“ ‘ Gentlemen, I am sure you will all drink with me, the 
health of our fair guest.’ 

“ Every man raised his glass to his lips and drank the 
toast, with the exception of Professor Pranzini, who deliber- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


561 


atelyand conspicuously raised his g-lass and spilt its contents 
into a larg-e box of sawdust that stood before the bar, where 
it was doing- its best — and filthiest — to enact the role of a 
cuspidor. 

“I nudg-ed the Major and called his attention to the evi- 
dent insult. — 



THE INSULT. 

“Turning- fiercely upon Pranzini, I said, ‘What is the 
meaning- of your extraordinary conduct, sir? Why did you 
not drink? Was your action intended as a personal affront 
to me, sir? or as a criticism upon the fair lady whose name I 
have taken the liberty of mentioning-, in a g-athering- which I 
had supposed was composed entirely of courteous g-entlemen?’ 

“ ‘Veil,’ replied Pranzini, haug-htily, ‘I do not-a know dat 
I am-a compell-a to make-a de expla-na-tion of-a my speak-a to 


562 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


anybod-a, sarr! But eef you not-a understand, I tell-a you 
dat I not-a drink, not-a be-cause I make-a to insult-a you,, 
but-a be-cause I not-a like-a de lady — not-a mooch. I think-a 
so grand-a complee-ment ees not-a by her to dee-serve. I 
not-a see dat she ees anyhow so verr-a beau-tee-ful. She 
ees no good / think-a. She cannot-a sing, she cannot-a dance; 
she ees not-a worth one doll-arr de year. Ah ! but she 
have-a de great tempair! She pull-a de hair! She scratch-a 
de face! She kick-a and she bite-a! She got-a one big 
tempair like-a de devil, I bet you!’ 

“While this little dialogue was taking place between 
Pranzini and myself, Jerry had slipped around to the Major’s 
side and was industriously whispering in that gallant gentle- 
man’s ear. He informed the old warrior that it was very 
evident that this was not the doctor’s quarrel, but his own, 
inasmuch as Pranzini had practically acknowledged that he 
did not object to drinking with the doctor, but was opposed 
to the sentiment. Jerry also suggested to the Major, that he 
should demand an immediate apology, and, if it were not 
forthcoming, should challenge Pranzini on the spot. The 
Major proceeded to follow his friend’s advice. 

“Addressing Pranzini, the old fire-eater said — ‘ I’ll info’m 
yo’, suh, that this is ma affaih! The lady whose health yo’ 
have refused to drink, is a puss’nal fren’ of mine;"jkuh, an’ I 
deman’ an’ apol’gy, suh!’ — And the Major slapped himself 
upon the chest with an air of ferocity that undoubtedly 
would have terrified Pranzini, had he not been acting a part 
with the moral support of our boys ! 

“Parmit-a me to deef-fair with-a you, sarr!’ replied 
Pranzini, assuming an aspect as ferocious and terrifying as 
the Major’s. ‘It-a seem to me, sarr, that-a dees af-fair not-a 
concern-a you at all. You vill-a please make-a to mind your 
own beez-a-ness ! ’ 

. ' “‘Do I unda’stan’, suh,’ thundered the Major, ‘ that yo’ 

refuse to ’pol’gize?’ 

“ ‘ Pre-cis-a-ly so! ’ said Pranzini. ‘ I con-graz-ulat-a you, 
dat you hav-a so mooch sense dat you make-a to un-der- 
stand. I veel-a not apol-o-gize, but I am-a read-y to let-a you 
like eet or not-a like eet, just as-a you dam please!’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


563 


“ ‘Very well, suh, said the Major, haug-htily. ‘I deman’ 
satisfaction ! ’ 

“All-a rig'ht, my good-a sarr,’ replied the prestidigitator. 
‘I am-a ready to give-a you dam plend-ee sateez-faction, any 
way dat you like-a to have eet ! ’ 

“Ah!’ exclaimed the Major, ‘it’s very fo’tunate fo’ yo’, 
suh, that I had prepa’ed fo’ a social call this evenin’, suh! 
Not anticipatin’ any such occu’ence as this, I left ma pistols 
at ma headqua’tahs. Howevah, I shall expect sat’sfaction in 
a mo’ fo’mal mannah on the field of honah, suh ! Ma fren’^ 
th’ hon’ble Mistah Mapleson, will make the nec’sary ’range- 
ments. Heah is ma ca’d, suh.’- 

“Verr-a veil,' said Pranzini, ‘your-a friend can find-a 
me whenevair dat-a he pre-fers. Eet vill be not-a big trouble 
to speak-a to me, sarr, as I live-a here at dees hotel, as-a 
you know.’ With these defiant words the prestidigitator 
retired. 

‘“Now, gentlemen,’ said the Major, ‘I trus’ that yo’ all 
will join me in a little liq’ah. This triflin’ affaih mus’ not dis- 
tu’b yo’ social enjoyment.’ ^ 

“As the quarrel had occupied sufficient time to develop a 
most inordinate thirst among the boys, the crowd was by no 
means slow in accepting the Major’s invitation, meanwhile 
complimenting him upon hischivalric defense of the principle 
of honor involved in the controversy. 

“Congratulations and invitations to imbibe were so nu- 
merous, that before long the Major had quite forgotten the 
object of his visit to the hotel. He was, however, ostenta- 
tiously enthusiastic over the prospect of vindicating his repu- 
tation for courage and gallantry upon the field of honor. 

“I finally concluded it was high time to get the Major 
home, and allow the boys to complete their plans for the 
prospective duel. I therefore intimated to the old hero the 
advisability of retiring, as I desired to have a little conversa- 
tion with him upon the important matter in which he and 
Pranzini were concerned. 

“‘You see. Major,’ I said, ‘the details of such affairs 
should be arranged promptly, and it would be best for us to 
return to your quarters, thus giving your friend, Mr. Maple- 


564 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


son, an opportunity to arrang-e the preliminaries of the little 
affair of honor in which your chivalric spirit has involved you.’ 

“‘Yes, Maje,’ said Jerry, ‘et’s jest ez wall fer y’u an’ 
Doc, ter mosey erlong. I’ll fix thing’s up ship-shape, an’ y’u 
kin jes’ bet yer bottom dollar thar aint g-oin’ ter be no fool- 
ishness ’bout this ’ere fig-ht. Uv course, seein’ ez how yore 
er mil’tary man, thet feller Pranzini aint ^oin’ ter seleck no 
s’ords ter do ther fig-htin’ with, but yore er g-ood all roun’ 
fig-hter, an’ shooters is g-ood ’nuff fer us. I’ll g-it thing’s fixed 
up ter-nig’ht, fer fear thet d— d Eytalyun mout chang’e his 
mind. Ez soon ez I’ve g’ot er fixed. I’ll come down ter ther 
post-ofhs an’ let ye know.” 

“ ‘Ah, ma deah Mistah Mapleson, yo’ are quite correct, 
suh. We will retiah, an’ I can assuah yo’ that any arrang-e- 
ments which yo’ may make will be puffec’ly sat’sfactory to 
me, suh. Gentlemen— I’ll bid yo’ all g’ood evenin’, suhs.’ 

“ With this, the Major linked his arm in mine and strode 
out into the rain, as haug’htily as the combined effects of 
ag’itation and whisky upon his knees, would permit. It 
would be too much to say that the Major had passed throug’h 
the trying’ ordeal of his quarrel with Pranzini with complete 
fortitude. There was a certain tremulousness in his accents, 
and a sufficient deg’ree of pallor in his countenance, to warrant 
the suspicion that he was supported more by his sublime 
egotism, the absence of any immediate danger, and the pres- 
ence of his numerous friends, than by any innate quality of 
courage that he possessed. During our journey homeward, 
however, he was bold as a lion. 

“I took occasion to stimulate the old warrior’s ambition 
for glory, by reminding him that the honor of the entire camp 
was in his hands. ‘Why, Major,’ I said, ‘you have no con- 
ception of the importance of the affair in which you are about 
to engage. You must remember that Pranzini, while he is 
temporarily our guest, is an alien, and it would have been 
very humiliating to your fellow citizens, had the insult offered 
by him been allowed to pass unnoticed. It is a fortunate 
thing, sir, that we have among us such a man as yourself, 
who has not only a high degree of appreciation of personal 
honor, but who is ready at any and all times to uphold the 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


565 


valor and courag-e of the citizens of this commonwealth! 
Your conduct this evening*, sir, was both g*allant and courag'e- 
oiis, and I have no doubt that you will acquit yourself with 
credit upon the field of honor!’ 

“‘I am oblig-ed to yo’ fo’ the compliment, suh,’ replied 
the Major. ‘Yo’ may be suah that the reputation of this 
town fo’ honah an’ courage shall not suffah at ma hands. It 
will give me great pleasuah, suh, to uphold the dignity of ma 
fellow citizens by killin’ that impert’nent scoun’rel!’ 

“We had now reached the post-office, and as Jerry was 
likely to arrive soon with his report of progress in the affair 
of honor, I accepted the Major’s invitation to enter his quar- 
ters and await developments. 

“Jerry did not keep us waiting long — his promptness 
would have excited suspicion in a less confiding mind than 
the Major’s. He made his report, however, with all the 
gravity and dignity becoming the important position of 
second to so gallant a warrior as Major Merriwether. 

“‘Wall, gentlemen,’ said Jerry, ‘I’ve got ther thing 
fixed up all O. K. Ther d — d Eytalyun wuz er little slip- 
pery, an’ I reckon he’d er crawled out uv et — he wuz so 
durned skeered — ef et hedn’t bin fer Charley Mason. Ye 
see, Pranzini wuz kickin’ jes’ like er steer, ’bout hevin’ no 
soot’ble second, so Charley jes’ releeved his mind on thet 
pint, by volunteerin’ ter do ther han’sum by ’im. Arter thet, 
I hed Charley ter deal with, an’ thar wuzn’t no more foolish- 
ness, y’u bet! Et wuz er case uv fightin’ ther Major er 
fightin’ Charley, so I reckon Pranzini thort thar wuzn’t much 
choice. 

“ ‘ Et didn’t take Charley an’ me long ter fix up ther 
’rangements fer ther fight. Ye see, we thort es how thet 
Eytalyun mout git outer town ’fore long, so we jes’ sot ther 
scrimmage fer termorrer mornin’, ’fore breakfas’. Pistols 
is ther weppins, an’ I hed ther thing fixed up soze ther 
Major’s own duellin’ pistols kin be used, seein’ ez how they 
air th’ only guns er thet kind in town. We kin toss up fer 
choice.’ 

“‘Ah! Major,’ I said, ‘the brave deserve good fortune, 
and you have certainly got luck on your side! It will be a 


566 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


great advantage to you, sir, to use a weapon with which you 
are so perfectly familiar! I dare say that Pranzini never 
faced an enemy’s fire in his life, while this aifair will be but a 
pleasant morning’s diversion for you. I presume, Jerry, that 
the duel is to be a roiitrance?^ 

‘“Wall, I haint read up on ther trance bizness lately,’ 
replied Jerry, ‘ but ef ye mean air we goin’ ter put thet d — d 
Eytalyun inter er trance, ye’ve hit ther nail on ther head 
fust crack. I knowed whut Maje wanted all right, so I jes’ 
’ranged ter hev ther shootin’ goon till one er ther combatters 
wuz drapped — wich means till ole Pranzini gits er hole through 
’im whut er coyote kin run through ! Savey ? ’ 

‘“Well, gentlemen,’ said the Major, ‘the ’rangements 
suit me puffec’ly. I can assuah yo’, suhs, that the insult 
offa’ed me in yo’ presence, can only be wiped out with goah ! 
I am only too glad to get ma hand in again, suhs — it will seem 
like old times.’ 

“‘Then, if everything is settled, gentlemen,’ I said, ‘I 
may as well retire. I must clean up my instruments and 
prepare some surgical dressings; there’s no telling what may 
happen — to Pranzini, and he is certainly entitled to my pro- 
fessional consideration. 

“‘ Yaas, ’ said Jerry, dryly, ‘be on hand sharp et half- 
past six er clock et th’ ole corral — whar we hed ther bull- 
fight, ye know, Major! I picked out thet place seein’ ez how 
I won ther toss, coz ther Major is so familyer with ther groun’ 
— eh, Maje?’ 

“ ‘An’ by ther way Doc, ef y’u hev got enny books whut 
treats on bullet wounds in Eytalyun fellers, ye’d better stud}" 
up fer yer work ter-morrer mornin’!’ 

“ ‘Very well, Jerry,’ I replied, ‘I’ll look over my library 
and see what I have on the subject. Perhaps Baron Larrey, 
or some other of the old-time surgeons have written on 
that special topic. 

“ ‘And now I must be going. Good night. Major, and 
good luck to you, sir. Good night, Jerry — we will next meet 
on the field of honor — the field of victory for the Major, I am 
sure ! ’ — 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


567 


“Morning’ came, and with it a visitor — the sun. Old 
Sol had not shown his face for some days, and although he 
was still sullen and gloomy and there was little prospect of 
his remaining- with us long — the sky being still very for- 
bidding — he was a most welcome guest. 

“One who has never been land-locked in the mountains 
during stormy weather, cannot appreciate how beautiful the 
sun looks when — as if to see how much the world misses him 
— he coquets with us, through the rifts of the sombre clouds. 
He has a fashion of appearing and disappearing that is most 
aggravating, and our little world follows his varying moods, 
with all the celerity of a lightning-change artist. When the 
sun smiles, the earth is fairly radiant with happiness, but 
when he scowls, there is gloom, depression and sadness 
everywhere. There was a special need of the sun on this 
occasion — he has a grandly stimulating effect on one’s red 
corpuscles, and red corpuscles were in urgent demand in the 
vicinity of the postoffice. 

“‘Ah!’ thought I, as I glanced at the heavens, ‘this 
augurs well for the gallant Major. If the sun will only stay 
up for a couple of hours, he may get warmed up to a most 
heroic pitch. It would indeed be a pity, not to have the sun’s 
rays to add lustre to the old soldier’s uniform and dazzle his 
enemy ! ’ 

“ Having gathered my instruments and other necessaries 
together, I tucked them under my arm and started for the 
battle ground. On the road, I fell in with half a dozen of the 
boys who were in the secret, and on their way to the gladia- 
torial arena. 

“As audiences are not en r^egle in affairs of honor, I 
suggested to them the propriety of assuming positions out- 
side the arena — opposite the road by which the Major would 
of necessity arrive. My plan was immediately adopted, and 
on our arrival at the corral the boys posted themselves as per 
arrangement. 

“ When I entered the arena, I observed that Pranzini and 
his second were already on the ground. I was glad of this, 
because I should have regretted to see the Major make the 


568 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


grand entree that I expected, without the opportunity of duly 
impressing the other actors in the drama. 

“ I had just arrang’ed my instruments in a prominent and 
alarmingly conspicuous position — flanking them with an array 
of bottles and bandages that would have done credit to a field 
hospital— when the Major and Jerry appeared at the entrance 
of the enclosure. 

“ The Major was arrayed in the same costume in which 
I had first made his acquaintance. The sun, that had now 
begun to be quite friendly and benevolent, illuminated his 
salient points of brilliancy; his medals, gold lace, brass but- 
tons and — his nose, until he was a spectacle of dazzling 
magnificence! I noted with some interest, that his com- 
plexion — aside from his nose — was decidedly waxy. 

“Jerry, I observed, had locked his arm in the Major’s, 
and — was it my imagination ? — seemed to be supporting him ! 
Possibly his added weight of importance and dignity was too 
much for his legs — they certainly wabbled more than was 
their wont! 

“I also noted with some solicitude, that Jerry, who had 
pushed the Major in ahead of himself, put up the bars again 
behind them. Was it because he was afraid Pranzini might 
escape? 

“I have been present at several duels, but I have never 
seen more painful formalities than were observed that morn- 
ing. Really, the preliminaries of that famous fight would 
have made a valuable supplement to the standard code. 

“ Charley Mason won the toss, and, much to our edifica- 
tion, the Major was compelled to face the sun, which was now 
glaring quite brightly! You can imagine the brillant figure 
he presented as he stood there trying to await the serious 
part of the programme, with all the calm of a June morning — 
an effort in which he most signally failed. 

“It remained to be seen whether the difficulty that the 
Major experienced in maintaining his equilibrium, was due to 
internal dissensions of a nervous character, or to a frantic 
desire to annihilate his enemy. Waiting is not a comfortable 
occupation on such occasions, and there are those upon whom 
the danger of the situation has no ennervating influence what- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


569 


ever, yet the suspense of waiting- — the postponement of the 
crisis — has a most demoralizing- and sometimes disastrous 
effect. Pranzini had every encourag-ement to keep cool, the 
Major — none. 

“ When the pistols had been chosen, and the seconds pro- 
ceeded to formally load them, the Major’s face was a study. 
As the hug-e bullets were conspicuously dropped into the 
barrels and hammered home, I thoug-ht the old hero would 
fall over — but he didn’t; he just stood there, swaying- like a 
blackbird on a branch ! 

“As Jerry passed me on his way to hand the Major his 
pistol, I whispered, warningly — ‘Don’t let this go too far, 
Jerry! He may be too scared to know enough to quit!’ 

“ ‘ Thet’s all right. Doc,’ replied Jerry, in a horse 
whisper, ‘ wax bullets ! Savvy ? ’ 

“The Major took the pistol mechanically, and for a mo- 
ment stood as rigidly erect as though in a cataleptic state — he 
was actually too frightened to tremble. But he soon recovered 
his power of movement and — his voice. 

“ ‘Air — y’u — ready, gentlemen?’ cried Jerry. 

“‘No! No! Holdon, suhs! Fo’ Gawd’s sake hold on!’ 
cried the Major, as he frantically fumbled about the be- 
medalled breast of his gaudy coat. — 

“This performance continued for fully half a minute — 
he was apparently searching for something. 

“ ‘Air — y’u — ready, gentlemen?’ again demanded Jerry. 

“‘No! No! holdon,suh! Wait a minute !’ shrieked the 
Major — and he threw down his pistol and struck out at a two- 
forty clip for the gate! 

“ The gate was no obstacle to the old soldier — he was in 
a hurry, and retreating was his specialty ! — Over the bars he 
went, with utter disregard for form and the integrity of his 
glittering raiment! Just as he was climbing over the top 
rail, Pranzini fired his pistol in the air, with the result that 
the old Major fell to the ground and rolled a goodly portion 
of the way down the road toward town! — We waited long 
enough to enable the poor old hero to get fairly away, and 
then joined the partv of hilarious boys outside the fence and 
started back to town. 


570 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“‘Wall,’ cried Charley Mason, with a laug-h that made 
the mountains ring, ‘ thet show beat ther bull-fight! I never 
seed anythin’ like it! Whew! how old Maje did hustle over 
them bars! I jes’ wish I could er seed ’im vamoosin’ down 
ther road — I’ll bet he made er record! I don’t b’lieve he’ll 
bother his head much erbout thet prize booty no more; it 11 
keep th’ ole feller too busy er fixin’ up yarns ’bout ther duel.’ 

“‘Oh well,’ I remarked; ‘the old Major has consider- 
able talent as a romancist, and I have no doubt that he will 
find some excuse that will redound to his credit.’ 

“ ‘ I dunno know ’bout thet. Doc,” said Jerry, who had not 
spoken since we left the corral, ‘I feel er little shaky ’bout this 
’ere deal, an’ I dunno know whether et’s so d — d funny ez et 
looked et fust. I’m afear’d we hev kinder piled on ther ag’ny 
an’ overdid ther bizness. Th’ ole Major is mighty sens’tive, 
arter all, an’ this thing is likely ter trubble ’im er heap. Ye 
see, this field uv honer gab uv his’n, hez alius bin his strong 
pint, an’ he’ll think et aint goin’ ter be dead easy ter squar’ 
this thing with ther boys.’ 

“ ‘ You forget the bull-fight,’ I remarked. 

“ ‘Yes, I know,’ he replied, ‘but thar wuz plenty uv fel- 
lers lookin’ on, thet day, thet wouldn’t er faced thet d — d steer 
er holy minnit, an’ yit aint afear’d uv er gun. It’s easy er ’nuff 
t’ explain erway er thing like thet, but this ’ere is diff’rent 
an’ Maje knows it. Ye see, we hev alius taken ther thing 
kinder sery’us like, an’ made th’ ole man think ez how we all 
thort he wuz er hero. When I went inter this thing, I thort 
he would weaken afore he come ter taw, an’ give us er chance 
ter let ’im down easy.’ 

“‘That is precisely the impression I myself had,’ I 
answered, ‘and I cannot understand now, how you succeeded 
in carrying the thing so far.’ 

“ ‘Wall,’ said Dutch Bill, who had been one of the audience 
outside the fence, ‘ I reckon Jerry jest erbout lugged him inter 
ther cornil, an’ th’ ole feller wuz kinder hopin’ suthin’ would 
happen ’fore ther shootin’ beginned. He wuz er thinkin’ 
’bout thet proxy graveyard er his, I reckon,’ and Bill smiled 
grimly as he whispered in my ear — ‘an’ ef this thing hed bin 
on ther squar’, thar’d bin er chance fer er good crop er 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


571 


mackerony over thar in thet tender-foot patch, nex’ Spring-.’ 

“The boys’ hilarity could have but one result, it made 
them thirsty, and as usual, when thirst appeared in that end 
of town, one William Hewlett was applied to for relief^ — at 



DUTCH bill’s ideas OF AGRICULTURE. 


the standard price. If I am a judg-e of morning- beverag-es, 
some of the sufferers did not appreciate their late breakfast 
that morning- — if indeed they were able to eat any, which was 
extremely doubtful. 


572 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“On leaving- Hewlett's, I sug-g-ested the advisability of 
separating- and taking- different routes to our respective head- 
quarters, lest the Major should see so larg-e a party together 
and draw inferences that would still further wound his 
vanity and excite his suspicions. This plan was adopted and 
we mutually agreed to avoid passing the post-office on our 
way. 

“ I was quite busy for the remainder of the day, and was 
compelled to make several calls at some distance from town. 
As the rain had begun pouring again at noon, my day’s work 
was extremely unpleasant. I had the miserable roads all to 
myself, for nobody but the doctor was expected to be out in 
such abominable weather. I did not return until long after 
dark. 

“When I had put my hardy little horse away for the 
night, I mentally resolved to turn in as soon as I had eaten a 
bit of supper — I was wet to the skin, and as tired as only 
muddy, stormy, mountain riding on a mustang can make one. 
When I reached my shanty, however, I found Jerry awaiting 
me. 

“ ‘Hallo there, Jerry!’ I called, ‘you seem to be lying in 
wait for me. Don’t shoot until you hear the evidence! 

“Jerry was usually quite appreciative of my little jokes, 
but he now exhibited no more merriment than a hired 
mourner at a funeral. 

“‘Thar aint no shootin’ in me, jes’ now,’ he replied, 
gloomily, ‘leastwise et my fren’s. I hev done ernulT er thet 
sort er damage already terday.’ 

“ ‘Why, what on earth’s the matter with you, Jerry?’ I 
asked, ‘what has happened?’ 

“ ‘ Doc,’ he replied solemnly, ‘ ther pore ole Major’s gone!’ 

“ ‘ Gone? Gone where ? ’ 

“‘Thet’s jest it. Doc; nobody knows whar. He’s jes’ 
gone, plain gone — vamoosed, cut stick, an’ quit ther claim!’ 

“ ‘But what for?’ I asked. 

“‘Wall, ye ’member whut I said this mornin’ ’bout th’ 
ole man bein’ sens’tive?’ 

“‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘I do remember your saying some- 
thing of the kind.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


573 


“ ‘ Then I reckon ye’ understan’ ther situashun. Ther 
duel wuz too much fer th’ ole man’s pride.’ 

“‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it, Jerry,’ I said, ‘the Major 
will turn up ag-ain all rig-ht. He is keeping- himself out of the 
way for a while. Perhaps he has locked himself up at his 
quarters.’ 

“ ‘ No, Doc, I jes’ come frum ther post-offis — he aint thar, 
an’ whut’s wuss, he haint bin thar sence jest arter ther duel. 
Some uv ther boys busted ther door in, an’ foun’ ther place 
empty. Th’ ole feller hed chang-ed his cloze an’ g-one erway, 
lockin’ ther place up ag-in arter hisself. Some uv ther fellers 
said, jes’ like y’u did, es how they thort he’d comeback afore 
mornin’, but I don’t b’lieve it. He’s summers out thar in ther 
hills, an’ ther Lord only knows whut’ll happen ter ther pore 
ole cuss! I wish thet d — d ole show hed bin in h — 1, ’fore it 
ever struck this town! Everybody likes ole Maje, an’ I wuz 
alius his bes’ friend.’ 

“ ‘ You were, indeed,’ I replied, ‘ and I know just how you 
feel. To tell you the truth, Jerry, ‘ I am a little ashamed of 
my own part in the transaction. ’ 

“‘Wall, Doc, it’s diff’rent with y’u,’ said Jerry, sadly, 
‘y’u haint knowedole Maje ez long- ez I hev, an’ besides, I owe 
th’ ole man er g-ood turn thet I never g-ot jes’ ther rig-ht 
chance ter squar’.’ 

“ ‘ How was that?’ I asked. 

“ ‘E t aint no time fer long- yarns. Doc; yore all tired out, 
an’ I aint feelin’ jes’ like tellin’ ’em, an’ ’specially thet one, 
but I’ll jes’ say this much, erbout er little deal thet I never 
tole y’u erbout. I hed ther mountain fever wonst, an’ ole 
Maje nussed me through et. All ther rest uv ther boys wuz 
too bizzy minin’, ter think erbout a ole hez-bin, like I seemed 
ter be. Uv course, Maje hedn’t much uv anythin’ else ter do, 
but thet don’t lessen whut I owe him. He haint got no sand, 
an’ he’s got er heart like er woman, but thet wuz ther kind 
uv er heart I wuz needin’ ’bout then. Th’ ole Major kaint 
fight er little bit, but he kin nuss er sick feller ter beat ther 
very devil!’ 

“‘Well, Jerry,’ I replied, deeply moved, ‘now you are 
heaping a few live coals on my own head. I don’t know just 


574 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


how to rectify our mistake, but I feel that the first thing" to 
do is to try to find the Major. We must find him first and 
make amends afterward.’ 

“‘Thet’s easier said ner done, Doc,’ Jerry answered, 
sorrowfully. ‘We couldn’t find nuthin’ in them mountains 
er nig-ht like this, an’ ther painters er g-rizzlies is likely ter 
find ’im fust, ef we wait till termorrer, so I reckon we air up 
er stump.’ 

“At any rate, Jerry,’ I said, ‘we will be compelled to 
wait till morning. It is probable that the Major started 
away very promptly, after his gallant retreat from the battle- 
field. If so, he quite likely reached some other town before 
nightfall. He rode away, did he not?’ 

“‘By th’ etarnal!’ exclaimed Jerry, ‘we never thort er 
lookin’ ter see whether his mustang wuz gone. We wuz so 
kinder upsot, thet we fergot all erbout his hevin’ er boss. 
But thet animile is er slow traveler, an’ th’ ole Major moutn’t 
ride fast ernuff, on sich roads ez we’ve got now, ter reach er 
safe place. We’ll start arter ’im in ther mornin’, boss er no 
boss, an’ ef we find ’im, we’ll bring ’im home like one er them 
Eur’pean jukes thet he tole us erbout. I want y’u ter go 
’long with us. Doc; th’ ole Major mout hurt hisself an’ need 
some doctorin’.’ 

“ ‘ I was about to say, Jerry,’ I remarked, ‘ that I consider 
it my duty to accompany you, both because of the possibility 
of my services being needed, and from the fact that I regard 
myself as in great measure responsible for the poor old 
man’s hasty departure.’ 

“‘Et’s d — d hard tellin’ who ter blame’, replied Jerry, 

‘ when one feller’s ez thick in ther mud ez t’other is in ther 
mire; but I’m ’bleeged ter y’u fer takin’ so much int’rust 
in ole Maje, all ther same. We’d orter git a early start, so 
I’ll call fer y’u ’bout half pas’ five erclock.’ 

“Having received my assurance that I would be ready at 
the appointed time, the kind-hearted Jerry rode away.” 

“And now, my boy, it is time for us to remember that we 
are but human, and need a certain amount of rest and sleep. 
Let us see what time it is anyway — 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


575 


“Good gracious, lad! it’s half-past one o’clock! Well, 
well, this will never do! — 

“Will you have a fresh cigar to keep you company on 
your way home? No? Well then, put it in your pocket and 
smoke it to-morrow. 

“Good night — or rather, good morning.” 







THE PASSING OF MAJOR MERRIWETHER, 


V. 



ROUBLE is Jes* like a ole snake 
in er log — 

Smoke *er out!” says “Nig^ 
ger Joe,” 

“Dars many good tings in 
de hide er de hog — 

Smoke em out!” says “Nig^ 

J 11 

oe. 

Hap ness is like er fat pos^ 
sum up er tree — 

Smoke *im out!” says he, 


When your thoughts do not come however you try, 
And your fountain of wit seems barren and dry — 

” Smoke em out ! ” say I, 










* ■ .43 






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THE PASSING OF MAJOR MERRIWETHER, 


V. 



•CTOR Weymouth was in a 
rather petulant mood when I 
arrived. It seems that his 
wife had requested him to 
hang- a picture for her, and in 
trying- to demonstrate that he really 
was of some use about the house — a 
point, by the way, upon which he and 
^'his wdfe had something- of a difference of 
opinion — he had made a decided mess of it. 

It appeared he had fallen off the step- 
ladder, shaking- himself up considerably and knocking- the 
skin off his somewhat prominent nose. 

This being- the doctor’s sensitive point, as well as his 
most prominent feature, he was expressing- his ideas of the 
accident in his usual clear-cut and incisive, not to say ornate, 
style. I could see him from the hall, as his colored servant 
admkted me, and, as he was too pre-occupied to notice me, I 
stood watching- him with some deg-ree of curiosity — much to 
the amusement of his wife^ who had seen me enter. 

After a choice exemplification of the fact that a bit of 
temper and g-ood lung-s sometimes make fine phrases, the 
doctor ag-ain assailed the picture — this time successfully. 
He came slowly down from the step-ladder, g-azing- upward at 
the picture, with an expression as triumphant as thoug-h he 
had just tied the innominate artery and hoped to pull his 
patient throug-h. 


r 


582 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

When he reached the floor, he happened to glance toward 
the hall and saw me, smilingly awaiting him : 

“Hallo, young man! How long have you been standing 
there watching my performance? You heard me swear. I’ll 
warrant ! 

“Well, it can’t be helped if you did, and I’m certain you 
never knew of greater provocation. Take a seat in the 
library and I’ll join you presently — as soon as I have put 
some collodion on my new nasal ornamentation.” 


“Ah! here we are again, punch, hookah, cigars and all — 
with the entire evening before us. Have one of these cigars; 
they are a new brand I am trying — on my friends — and I 
, should like your opinion of them. 

“Well, my boy, tanpus has ‘fugited’ rather more rapidly 
than usual since I saw you last. I have been so busy that I 
' have hardly had time to note the passing of the days. There 

j; has been a marked increase in the number of cases of diph- 

i| theria of late. Do you know, young man, that diphtheria is 

II of all diseases the one I dread the most? It is a disease that 

has taken the conceit out of greater men than I am, though 
that’s not saying much. What disease has a worse record? 
Its course has been marked by tears enough to float the 
Great Eastern, and despair enough to give the angels melan- 
j cholia! It has broken hearts enough to appease the wrath of 

Providence for all time, yet, Herod-like, it still goes on and 
I on, destroying the innocent and laughing at science! Hygeia 

has many injuries to avenge, but diphtheria has caused woe 
■; enough to satiate the vengeance of Frankenstein’s monster, 

ill to say nothing of that of an outraged divinity, 

j “I assure you, my young friend, that I always feel 

humiliated in the presence of diphtheria. To think how 
, comparatively little we can do to combat such a monster of 

!' destruction, is not only humiliating but absolutely exasper- 

d ating-. 

I “Well, you may be right — perhaps I am drawing it a 

|j little too strongly ; I’ll admit that we save many lives, but our 

|,i past records show that we have saved them by the application 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 583 

of rational g'eneral principles, rather than by virtue of specific 
remedies. 

“Oh yes, I know there have been hundreds of ‘specifics’ 
for diphtheria, all of which have been lauded to the skies— 
while the poor patients have been fairly flying* thither. But 
none of the so-called specifics have held their g'round. We 
have soug-ht for a specific most faithfully; indeed, there is 
hardly a g’eneral practitioner who has not discovered an 
infallible remedy at one time or another — only to drop it for 
a new straw ‘ specific,’ sooner or later. 

“ One of the finest men I ever knew, was driven, first out 
of the profession, and then into an early g’rave, by his own 
discovery. He invented a specific for diphtheria, which, 
according" to a monograph that he published, was practically 
infallible — as proven by the records of some hundreds of 
cases. Within a week after the appearance of his essay, the 
disease appeared in his own family, and in a few days had 
robbed him of his wife and two children. He had no specific 
for a broken heart, poor fellow, and in less than six months, 
he and his theory were buried beside his loved and lost ones. 
And then he found the only true specific for all human ills — 
the grave. 

‘ Oh, frail estate of human thing’s 
Then to his cost your emptiness he knew. ’ 

“ But, thanks to modern science, we at last bid fair to be 
able to meet the disease upon at least even terms. Indeed, 
the discovery of antitoxin has given us ground for hope that 
we may one day, not only battle with diphtheria successfully, 
but, mayhap, practice inoculation against it, as we do in the 
prevention of smallpox. 

“What a disagreeable day this has been, to be sure! I 
have had an excellent opportunity to appreciate it, for I 
haven’t had so much to do for many weeks. Such a variety 
of things, too. I really believe I have had all the ills that weak 
human flesh is heir to, paraded for my inspection to-da}’. 
The slippery roads and sidewalks have given the surgeons 
plenty to do, for a week or more, and I certainly have had my 
full share. 

“What sort of cases have I had? Well, my young 


584 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


Esculapius, what kind would you expect to have in such 
weather? You don’t know, eh? Well, sir, you’ll learn some 
very practical points in that direction before you have been 
in practice one winter, if you practice in the North — which 
you will not do if you are sensible. 

“In such weather as has recently prevailed in this local- 
ity, your good citizen may slip upon the icy sidewalk, perhaps 
a hundred times, with impunity — this is likely to be the case 
if he carries a large accident policy. He finally, however — 
this is especially apt to occur if his policy has run out — slips 
just once too often, and does himself more or less serious 
injury. 

“If he happens to be a fastidious individual, he may make 
a selection from a large variety of injuries. He may select a 
sprained wrist or ankle, a Colie’s or Pott’s fracture, a dis- 
location, a broken head, or a black eye, according to taste. 
A sprained back, concussion of the brain or spine, and moral 
prostration, may be used for trimmings — especially if a case 
is to be made against a corporation or the municipality. 

“There are numbers of medical cases, too, just now — 
diphtheria is not having the field to itself, by any means — 
measles is playing a pretty hard game with the babies. 

“A mild disease, you say? Oh, yes, sometimes, but 
there’s measles and measles. I don’t know of a trickier or 
deadlier disease when it does take a notion to be malignant. 

What miserable complications and sequelae follow in the 
train of the eruptive diseases of children, and especially 
measles! It seems to me that all those wonderful germs 
that we have discovered of late years, fairly lie in wait for 
measles patients. Your little patient is getting along swim- 
mingly, and you are in the act of congratulating the child’s 
parents — and incidently yourself — when, the first thing you 
know, a vicious pneumococcus, or pus microbe, or a tubercle 
bacillus, that has been sneaking around looking for victims, 
attacks the poor little pet and hangs on until death steps in 
and claims his own. 

“Measles a mild disease, eh? Just wait until you meet 
it with its war paint on ! 

“Ask my friends Dr. M and Dr. W how they 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


585 


lost their own little children. And, for the matter of that, 
ask your humble servant how it happened that there were but 
three of his own family who survived to adult ag'e. Poor 
little baby brother and sister — you could testify that measles 
is a serious matter! 

“By the way, my young- friend, I saw a case to-day that 
almost made me forg-et my professional etiquette and say 
some pretty plain thing's to one of my brethren. 

“I was called in counsel to see one of my old patients 
who had been ill for three weeks with what had been pro- 
nounced typhoid fever. The doctor patron izing-ly told me, 
that he had the case well in hand, hut a complicating abscess 
had developed in the patienVs right side, and the family was 
growing somewhat uneasy, 

“ Examination revealed a hug-e abscess, evidently due to 
appendicitis. I asked the doctor what he was doing- for this 
feature of the case, and he told me that he was poulticing- 
the abscess and ‘ waiting- for the pus to come to the surface!’ 

“Having- ascertained that the doctor had no particular 
influence with the Providence which had been so kind to the 
patient for the preceeding- three weeks, and learnings that 
there was no mag-ical potency in his poultices that was likely 
to determine the particular direction in which the abscess 
would rupture, I sug-g-ested the use of the knife, and, for a 
wonder, my disting-uished confrere consented to it — although 
with bad grace. 

“I hope I succeeded in convincing my learned friend, 
that, when one has a lot of gunpowder and some loose matches 
in the same pocket, it is unwise to wait for a special dispens- 
ation of Providence to remove the danger — it is safest to 
empty the pocket, as gently as possible, but thoroughly. 
Providence is often kind, but rarely capable of successfully 
carrying on a copartnership with imbecility. 

“But not every practitioner would have surrendered as 
gracefully as did this one. As Dumas remarked, ‘While 
there is a limit to genius, stupidity has no bounds. Some 
people’s opinions are like nails, the harder you hit them the 
deeper you drive them in.’ 

“ With such people it is profitless to argue. 


586 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“ It is but a few days since I operated upon a strangulated 
hernia, the patient being almost in extremis. He had been for 
some days on a diet of lead-and-opium pills. The doctor said 
he had reduced the hernia, but that Hhe subsequent vomiting- 
had set up injiaitimation'' — hence the pills. 

“ The patient did not recover — the bowel was gangrenous 
— but the doctor said that ‘if the operation ha-d not been per- 
formed the man would have recovered, the strangulation was 
already loosening up ! ’ 

“Apropos of Providence, did you ever notice how some 
of our theories are set at naught among the poorer classes? 
I was riding along one day through a poor neighborhood on 
my way to visit one of my once prosperous families that is 
now down in the world, and took occasion to note the unhy- 
gienic condition of the locality. Dirty, tumble-down houses, 
hardly big enough for hen-coops, interspersed with stables 
and cheap groceries, breweries and bad-smelling factories — 
the locality looked anything but inviting. 

“The streets were narrow and unpaved, and in the 
ditches lay a green-scummed fluid that belonged in the 
sewers — of which there were none. — And then I saw playing 
about the sidewalks and slopping about in the mud and dirty 
water, troops of children, of all ages and varying degrees of 
filthy dilapidation. Frowsy, unkempt, dirty and ragged, but 
as healthy and fat as little pigs — some of them actually 
beautiful through all their dirt — they were a direct rebuke to 
some of our modern views of sanitation! 

“The mothers of these children are also a rebuke to 
some of our notions of midwifery — as formed from a study of 
fashionable mammas. 

“‘Mrs. O’Flaherty, or Mrs. Guppenheimer, increases 
the census on a Saturday night, and on Monday morning she 
is at the wash-tub, while the new citizen shifts for himself 
largely, from the very commencement of his career. He 
soon joins the brigade of ragged, healthy little soldiers 
out in the ditch, and from that time on, shifts for himself 
altogether. 

“But bye and bye an epidemic comes, and then the 


OVER THE HOOKAH. ' 


587 


star-eyed g-oddess — Science — is vindicated, and the brig-ade 
of unfortunate little soldiers is decimated by microbes! 

“But, to return to the Major:’’ 

“Jerry was on hand with a large party of the boys, 
bright and early the morning following the day of the 
Major’s disappearance. All were mounted, and seemingly 
very eager to start out in search of our friend. 

“ To me, the cavalcade was of the most touching signifi- 
cance — could the Major have seen that demonstration of 
the affection of his fellow-townsmen, the poor old man would 
have found therein a balm for his lacerated pride. Jerry 
informed me that even the little Watson boy begged to be 
allowed to join the party, thereby running extreme risk of an 
application of the maternal slipper, which was never more 
deftly wielded than by his muscular mother. But the old 
lady herself, was nevertheless as interested in the expedition 
as any of the men — she, too, had a warm place for the old 
Major in her rather practical heart. 

“ I soon had my horse saddled, and joined the party on 
the penitential expedition, which, alas! proved to be ‘love’s 
labor lost. ’ 

“ We soon divided up into small parties and scoured the 
country as thoroughly as practicable, under the then exist- 
ing conditions of weather and roads, but to no purpose. We 
could not find a trace of the Major. 

“ The party with which I rode, was led by Jerry, and we 
went as far as Placerville, where we put up for the night. 
We continued our search for some miles beyond that town 
the following day, but with no result — we not only did not 
find our postmaster, but could obtain no news of him. 

“We finally gave up the search, and disconsolately re- 
turned to E . 

“Jerry was right; Major Merriwether had indeed 

‘vamoosed an’ quit ther claim.’ The town of E , knew 

him no more in the flesh.” 


“ The weather finally cleared up, and the sky was again 
friendly and smiling. Our histrionic guests were at last 


588 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


enabled to g'et away from town in comparative comfort — and 
we, were g’lad to see them g'o. 

“I know not whether the chief factor in the disaster 
that had overtaken our town, thought of the gallant old man 
who had fallen a victim to her capacious smiles— and his own 
gallantry. I do not believe she had the poor Major in mind, 
as she searchingly glanced at the crowd that stood at the 
hotel entrance watching the departure of the stage, but we 
thought of him, and, as she kissed her knobby hand in our 
direction, Jerry Mapleson instinctively ducked his head and 
swore softly to himself. 

“Bottini was not popular in E , and her departure 

was hailed with joy — indeed, as the boys ‘lickered up ’ at the 
hotel bar after the stage had gone, some of them actually 
smiled — for the first time since we lost the Major. 

“I fancied, as I saw some of my friends glancing at 
Pranzini, that they regretted exceedingly the unhappy fact 
that his quarrel with the Major had not been ‘ on ther squar’. ’ 
Dutch Bill, I am sure, was thinking of that little corner in the 
old warrior’s proxy cemetery, that he had selected for a mac- 
caroni garden. Bill knew very little of agriculture, and still 
less of the manufacture of maccaroni — he did know how to 
prepare Italian prestidigitators for planting. 

“But the departure of the stage was without incident, 
and the pistols of the Major’s loyal friends saw not the light. 
Could they have destroyed the perpetrators of the practical 
joke that had driven their old friend away, without taking 
some of their own medicine, they would not have been so 
peaceable. They were just, and didn’t want to commit sui- 
cide — nor shoot the only doctor in town.” 


“The little town of E was too cosmopolitan and far 

too busy, to permit the fortunes of a single individual to dis- 
turb its equilibrium for any length of time, and the incident 
that resulted in the hasty departure of our postmaster was 
no exception to the rule. 

“The old Major was, however, not forgotten — especially 
was he remembered by some of his intimate friends. Jerry 
and I had many a remorseful conversation on the subject of 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


589 


his sudden leave-taking-. Our consciences had been eased to 
a certain extent by a rumor that a man of his description had 
been seen somewhere in the vicinity of Sacramento. As the 
Major was such a unique character, we had g-rounds for 
hoping- that the rumor was correct. I confess, however, that 
our uneasy consciences saw an accuracy in the description 
that was more consoling than logical. 

“Some weeks after the Major’s departure, an attempt 
was made to arrange for a successor to the office that he 
had vacated. Jerry, however, opposed this in a manner 
more than usually decisive and emphatic, and as the more 
determined of his associates were with him on the question 
of sentiment involved, the agitation was very short-lived. 

“Jerry remarked: ‘Thar’s no hurry so long ez ther 
guv’ment don’t git excited. Ther post-offis bizness in this 
’ere town aint goin’ ter slump through, an’ I reckon we kin 
stand et ez long ez ole Uncle Sam kin. Anyhow, thar aint 
goin’ ter be no foolin’ with ther post-offis jest yit, eh, boys?’ 

“And the boys allowed that Jerry was right. As one of 
his friends expressed it, ‘-Ef enny feller is more perswadin’ 
ner Jerry Mapes, he mus’ be d^ — d quick on ther trigger!’ 

“ The post-office was now a sentiment — dedicated by our 
boys to the memory of Major Merriwether. Woe betide 
him who wounded their feelings by invading that sacred 
domain! 

“ Meanwhile, Tom Oaks, the stage driver, was the dis- 
tributor of the mails, as in the primitive days long before 
the town had a postmaster. 

“Nobody criticised the crude and informal methods of 
our postmaster tern. He was another self-opinionated 
man, with a large bump of self-esteem — and a bigger six- 
shooter.’’ 


“ The Major had been missing for over two months, and 
aside from the rather indefinite tidings to which I have already 
referred, we had heard nothing of him. 

“Winter had fairly set in, and as our little town was 
pretty well up among the mountains, we had more or less 
snow, alternating with the rainfall characteristic of the 


590 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


greater part of California at that season of the year. We 
did not appreciate the luxury of snow, as it seriously inter- 
fered with mining, and for periods more or less prolonged, 
effectually cut us off from all communication with the valley 
towns. 

“ The advantages possessed by the people living at lesser 
altitudes were not all one-sided, however, as the freshets that 
our upper country furnished them in the spring, were ample 
revenge for the slurs which they cast upon our facilities for 
earning a living and for travel, during the winter. 

The stage from Placerville was decidedly intermittent 

in its visits to E . It had always come to our town through 

the courtesy of the owners, rather than on account of their 
business instinct. During such weather as usually prevailed 
in the winter months, the stage came beyond Placerville just 
about as often as old Tom Oaks saw fit — no oftener. 

“As might be inferred, therefore, the semi-occasional 
visits of the stage were gala events in E . 

“I participated in the general hilarity of these celebra- 
tions more as an evidence of public spirit than because the 
arrival of the stage was likely to be of interest to me. 

“ I was a plodding doctor, caring for the sick in a rough 
mining town. I had burned my bridges behind me— the^e 
was nothing at that time to link me to civilization. My old 

fiiends in the lower country had long since forgotten me 

the search for gold was a stronger passion than friendship, 
and memory was a luxury which few in that country cared to 
enjoy. 

“You will consequently understand that the arrival of 
the stage was not even an incident in my humdrum career. 

“ What was my surprise, therefore, as I stood at the door 
of the hotel one evening, carelessly watching the boys crowd- 
ing about the stage and clamoring for letters, to hear mv camp 
sobriquet called out by the driver: 

“ ‘I say. Doc! hyar’s er letter fer y’u. I reckon she’s 
found out whar y’u air !’ said Oaks, jocularly. 

“ ‘Oh, I guess you must be mistaken. Bill,’ I said. H am 
not expecting any mail— indeed, none of mv friends know 
where I am, so far as I know.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


591 


“ ‘Wall, this ’ere letter b’long-s ter y’u, jest ther same,’ 
he replied, ‘leastwise, ef ther frunt letter uv yore name is 
Will’yum Wemmuth.’ 

“ The boys eyed me somewhat curiously, as I stepped up 
and took the letter. I presume they were as much surprised 
as I was, that I should receive a communication from the out- 



“ RECKON she’s FOUND OUT WHAR Y’U AIR.” 

side world. The boys were not inquisitive reg-arding- my 
history, and I never knew whether or not they even sus- 
pected me of having* one worthy of attention. Their 
instinctive sense of personal honor and the delicacy that 
prevails among* men who carry quick answers ready for use 


592 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


in their holsters, would have been a protection from idle 
curiosity, even had I any history that required it — this I 
fortunately had not. 

“ No comments were made upon my letter, therefore, 
and I interpreted the curious g-lances that I received, as a 
manifestation of the friendly and sympathetic interest which 
I felt that our boys had in me. 

“The superscription had a familiar appearance, yet I 
had not the slig-htest suspicion as to its authorship. I am 
free to say that I handled the missive as g-ing-erly as thoug-h 
it were explosive — the sensation of handling- a letter was so 
novel to me. 

“I went into the bar-room of the hotel, sat down at a 
table in an out-of-the-way corner, and awkwardly proceeded 
to open my letter. 

“It would be difficult to describe my sensations as I read 
the epistle, and realized — long- before I reached the sig-na- 
ture — that it was from the missing Major. Joy, remorse 
and amusement were commingled to such a degree that I 
could hardly have expressed my feelings. 

“Possibly you may better appreciate the letter by read- 
ing it in the original. I have carefully preserved all data 
bearing upon the gallant Major Merriwether, as mementoes 
of the most unique character I have ever known. The 
writing is still legible, although you will have to handle the 
letter carefully, as the paper is getting into the sere and 
yellow leaf: 

San Fkancisco, Cal., December 30, 1863. 
Dear Doctor Weymouth: 

It may surprise you, sir, to receive a letter from me, dated as above. 
Indeed, it may surprise you to hear from me at all, the more especially 
as I believe that you fully appreciate the peculiar circumstances sur- 
rounding my departure from E . I address you, sir, as the only 

gentleman whom I know in my former place of residence, who is worth 3 ' 
of my consideration. 

As you, sir, were upon the field of honor upon that eventful morn- 
ing on which such disgrace was brought upon the town, you certainlj- 
realize the scandalous manner in which my opponent, and, I am sorrj- 
to say, my own second, the Hon. Mr. Mapleson, conducted themselves. 

You will recollect, sir, that at the most critical moment of the affair 


593 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 

in short, at the very instant that I was preparing- to receive the word 
to fire, I was compelled to precipitately retire from the field. Had my 
opponent been a man of honor, sir, he would have understood the 
situation as soon as he saw by my actions that there was somethino- 
seriously wrong- with my attire. 

Just as I had placed myself in position, I discovered to my horror 
and dismay, that the beautiful decoration presented to me by the Czar 
of Russia, in commemoration of the interesting- occasion upon which I 
lescued him from the ferocity of a bear, was missing- from the front of 
m,y coat. 

Realizing-, sir, that I must have left the decoration at m}'- head- 
quarters, where it would doubtless be perfectly safe until the conclusion 
of the affair in which I was then eng-ag^ed, I was about to prepare to 
continue, and exch^ing-e shots with my opponent, when I remembered, 
sir, that I had promised my friend, the Czar, that I would never enter 
any affair involving- my personal honor, without wearing- upon my 
bi east that beautiful emblem of his esteem. 

sir, upon the instinctive sense of honor and courtesy of 
g-entlemen of courag-e, such as I supposed my opponent to be, I did not 
consider it necessary to explain the matter before retiring- from the field 
for the purpose of procuring- the missing- decoration. 

I had the impression as I left the field of honor, that my opponent 
took a cowardly advantagfe of the situation and fired his pistol at me, 
sir. In this I may have been mistaken, but I certainly heard a report, 
and on subsequent inspection of my uniform I found a bullet-hole 
throug-h my chapeau. 

I could ev-en hav-e overlooked this playful indiscretion on his part, 
sir, had he remained upon the field like a g-entleman and g-iven me the 
opportunity of returning^ the fire. 

You can imag-ine my disg-ust, when I returned to the field of 
honor and found that everybody had left. Even my friend, the Hon. 
Mr. Mapleson, whom I believed to be the soul of chivalry, had departed. 
As you, sir, were a non-combatant, I was not surprised to find that 3"ou 
had retired. 

My first impulse was to seek out my adversary and shoot him, 
sir, like a dog-. On further reflection, however, I decided that I could 
not in self-respect remain long-er in a community in which personal 

honor and courag-e are so lig-htly reg-arded as in E . I therefore 

returned to my humble abode, changped my clothing-, and shook the dust 
of that miserable town from off my feet forever. 

I would ask you, sir, as the only g-entleman in my former town, 
in whose discretion, honor and courag^e I have the slig-htest confidence, 
to forward to me such property as you may find in my headquarters 
and can identify as mine. I would especially commend to your careful 
attention my military wardrobe and accouterments. I will state that on 
leaving- E , I broug-ht my various decorations and orders with me. 


'594 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


Hoping- that I may have the opportunity of greeting you in the 
near future in my new and more congenial surroundings, I have the 
honor to remain, sir, 

Your humble servant and devoted friend, 

MAJOR MERRIWETHER. 

P. S. — Permit me to state, my dear doctor, that I have at last 
found a place of residence in which personal honor is most highly 
regarded. I have already had an affair with Captain Johnstone of the 
army, in which I seriously wounded that distinguished gentleman. 

I also participate to-morrow morning in a little entertainment 
before daylight, in which I serve as second to my distinguished friend, 
Don Miguel Ciiscarilla, who has a slight misunderstanding to adjust 
between himself and Senor Pasquale Robanza. As I happened to be 
acquainted with both of these gentlemen during my Mexican campaign, 
the affair promises to be very agreeable. These little matters are so 
pleasant, my dear doctor, when you happen to know the standing of 
the parties concerned. 

It is rather a delicate matter, sir, but should you ever happen to 
have the opportunity of communicating with my lady friend, Mad- 
moiselle Bottini, please explain to her the circumstances under which I 

left the town of E , with due consideration for the honorable manner 

in which I conducted myself. 

I desire also, my dear sir, that j'^ou should assure her of my dis- 
tinguished consideration, and inform her that I am in hopes of meeting 
her again under more favorable circumstances in this magnificent city 
of San Francisco, 

Again assuring you of my devotion, believe me. 

Your sincere admirer, 

M. M. 

“Young man, if the old adage that ‘consistency is a 
jewel’ be correct, Major Merriwether is the brightest gem 
in the world’s galaxy of great men! To me, that letter is the 
most remarkable contribution to epistolary literature that 
has ever been written, with one exception, and that one was 
written by — Major Merriwether himself, as you will see 
later on. 

“I knew that Jerry would be*, delighted to know that his 
old friend, the Major, was still alive and flourishing — there 
was nothing in the letter suggestive of anything but pros- 
perity. So, before leaving for my quarters, I looked him up 
and asked him to accompany me home, saying that I wished 
to talk to him about a little matter of business. Having 
arrived at my office, and the usual rites of Western hospi- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


595 


tality having- been performed, I informed Jerry that I had 
heard from the Major. 

“ I thought my worthy friend would jump clear out of his 
muddy boots at this welcome news. 

“‘The h — 1 you have!’ he exclaimed, springing to his 
feet. ‘ Whar’d ye hear ’bout ’im, an’ when?’ 

“ ‘ Well,” I answered, ‘ through the most natural channel 
in the world. That letter I received this evening was from 
the Major himself. The old man is in San Francisco, alive 
and well, and, according to his account, fighting a duel three 
times a day before meals.’ 

“ ‘Wall, by ther gre’t etarnal! ef thet aint ther bulliest 
news thet I’ve heerd sence ’49!’ — and the kind-hearted miner 
fairly danced with delight. 

“ ‘ Tell er feller all erbout it. Doc.’ 

“ ‘ Possibly I could not do the subject better justice than 
by reading the letter,’ I replied. 

“I proceeded to read the letter, and Jerry was an en- 
thusiastic, though noisy, listener. He laughed, crowed like 
a Shanghai rooster, swore and turned handsprings all at 
once. 

“‘Gre’t snakes! but aint he er Jim dandy?’ he ex- 
claimed, when I had finished. ‘Ef thet ole Major aint er 
gre’t man, I’m er greaser! W’y, jump my claim, ef th’ ole 
feller haint got brains ’nuff ter be pres’dent! Did y’u ever 
hear ennythin’ like ther way he hez patched thet duel up?’ 

“ ‘ There is no disputing the fact that the Major has 
great ingenuity,’ I replied. ‘I do not believe, myself, that 
there is another man living who equals him in his own pecu- 
liar line. His cleverness and zeal are certainly worthy of a 
better cause.’ 

“‘Thet’s all right. Doc; thar’s plenty er men whut’s 
sandy ’nuff ter die with the’r boots on, but d — d few whut 
kin run erway with ’em on, like ole Maje did, an’ still keep 
up conferdence in the’r own fightin’ qual’ties.’ 

“‘Perhaps you are right,’ I said, ‘but, after all, the 
principal fact established by the letter is that Major Merri- 
wether is still in the land of the living. We shall always miss 


596 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


his g-enial and entertaining* society, but our consciences will 
henceforth be relieved of something* of a load.’ 

“ ‘ Thet’s so, Doc,” said Jerry, ‘ an’ whut’s better, p’raps 
we kin g*it th’ ole man ter come home, in ther spring*.’ 

“ ‘I fear not, Jerry,’ I replied. ‘The old Major can hardly 
have that deg*ree of confidence in his subterfug*e. My own 
opinion is, that he has not the remotest idea of how long* we 
waited for him to return to the battle-field, and, despite the 
bravado expressed in his letter, he is probably entertaining- 
a horrible doubt as to the true state of affairs.’ 

“ ‘I think, Jerry,’ I continued, ‘that it would not be well 
to mention the fact that the Major wrote to me direct — simply 
tell the boys that a friend of mine who lives in San F rancisco 
met the Major, and, without knowing* that I ever knew him, 
casually described the old man in a letter to me, inci- 
dentally g*iving* me his name. That story will seem quite 
natural to our friends, as they know the Major’s peculiarities 
and will not be surprised at the impression he made upon 
my correspondent. 

“You see, Jerry, the boys mig*ht not think the old man 
did just rig*ht in communicating* with me, instead of writing* 
to some of his friends who have known him long*er and more 
intimately than I. Then, ag*ain, should they believe that the 
old man feels toward them as he expresses himself in his 
letter, they would be likely to feel more remorseful than ever.^ 

“Jerry ag*reed with me as to the wisdom of not making- 
the Major’s letter public. After some more ‘hospitality,’ 
the delig*hted fellow bade me g*ood nig*ht and departed on his 
pleasant errand of notifying the boys that their old friend, 
the Major, was still ‘ erlive an’ kickin’, down in ’Frisco.’ 

“The boys were happy to learn that the Major was still 
on earth, and subjected me to a cross-fire of questions the 
first time I showed myself among them. They seemed more 
than pleased to receive assurances of the old man’s safety, 
from the original source whence Jerry derived his information. 

“ The idea that the Major should be sought out and in- 
vited to return home in the spring, was quite general. I told 
his many friends that in my opinion an effort in that direction 
ought to be made, but expressed the fear that his new sur- 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


597 


roundings might be so congenial that it would be difficult to 
induce him to return to E . 

“‘You know, boys,’ I said, jocularly, ‘that the gallant 
old fellow is fond of ladies’ society, and I am afraid that 
’Frisco holds out inducements with which we cannot compete 
— unless Bottini can be induced to return. Then, too, you 
know, even that scheme is a little dubious — he ran away from 
her once.’ 

“The humor of my remarks was lost upon the Major’s 
friends. I had touched a spot in their memories that no 
longer had its original flavor of fun. The absence of the 
Major was a serious matter to those kind-hearted miners, 
who felt that the old man had been a very prominent factor 
in the social fabric of E .’’ 


“The passing of Winter is welcome in every clime, but 
the early days of Spring in the California mountains are 
characterized by such a terrific downpour of rain that the 
change is hardly for the better. No one who has not experi- 
enced it can appreciate the magnitude and persistency of the 
rainstorms that herald the approach of warm weather in 
that region. Even the dwellers among the mountains, hardly 
realize the copiousness of the rainfall. The inhabitants of 
the valleys, however, can impart some very interesting ob- 
servations upon this point. One who yearly sees brooks 
swollen into rivers, and rivers into resistless torrents of 
overwhelming, unreasoning, merciless water, is not likely to 
forget the debt he owes to the melting snows and abundant 
rain of the mountains. The man who passes through a 
spring freshet in the Sacramento Valley, is likely to forget 
everything but that freshet for a time. Should he ever, by 
any possibility, forget the details of the affair, he can readily 
furbish up his memory by referring to the scriptures — 
Noah’s flood makes a very fair understudy for one of those 
freshets. 

“Spring may be said to be fairly under way in that re- 
gion, by February, and when it does come, even if one is 
quite fastidious about rain and mud, he is indeed a fault- 
finder who does not feel well repaid for the disagreeable 


598 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


weather that has gone before. Spring in those mountains 
is all ‘rare days, ’ and the mere circumstance of living, should 
be comfort enough for the average man. 

“It has been said that every man ought to be glad to be 
alive. I don’t know as this rule is even general in its appli- 
cation — this I do know, however; the man who is alive and 
healthy in the months of Spring in the California Sierras 
and has any complaints to make, isn’t lit to stay on this 
planet. It would be useless to offer him the earth, it isn’t 
good enough for him. He had best go to Mars and— drown 
himself in one of those big canals we read about. 

“As the weather began to improve and the roads became 

‘navigable,’ the town of E once more assumed its wonted 

air of importance. Mining received a fresh impetus, and ‘ the 
hum of honest industry’ was heard once more. Blithely rat- 
tled the ivory chips and merrily flashed the cards, while the 
clink of the glasses at the various resorts about town, made 
music sweet to the ear of the thirsty miner! 

“Even my own profession received additional encourage- 
ment, and fees were as liberal as they were plentiful. It 
seemed to me that during the winter it was not necessary to 
do much shooting or human vivisection. There was appar- 
ently an unwritten law among the miners, which held it to 
be unethical to inflict bodily injury unless the ‘inflictor’ had 
the price of the surgical treatment or burial of the ‘inflictee.’ 
Even my friend Jerry, practically hibernated during the 
winter, much to the relief of the greasers— the special 
objects of his antipathy. 

“The revival of activity in our town was attended by 
an influx of strangers — some of whom were desirable addi- 
tions to our population, but many being a decidedly obnoxious 
element — one that occasionally required quite radical meas- 
ures for its regulation. 

“Among the new-comers were a few representatives of 
that uncertain quantity known as the ‘tenderfoot.’ I never 
knew exactly what the term meant, but I discovered that in 
its general application it had about the same significance as 
the more civilized term, ‘dude,’ sometimes has— it desig- 
nated a man who had a greater or less degree of education. 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


599 


who wore a clean collar and a ‘biled’ shirt, and was not sup- 
posed to know one end of a six-shooter from the other. If his 
vocabulary of oaths was limited, the verdict of ‘tenderfoot’ 
was one from which there was no appeal. 

“Next to the g-reaser, my friend Jerry held the tender- 
foot most in contempt. He never saw one who had ‘sand,’ 
he claimed, until after he had been well trained by the old- 
timers. Then, once in a while, the tenderfoot blossomed 
into a fighter. 

“But there was one variety of the genus tenderfoot that 
Jerry had never experimented with — the ‘blue-breasted’ 
breed they raise down in Georgia. 

“Such a tenderfoot happened to be among our new ar- 
rivals, and as luck would have it, it fell to Jerry’s lot to 
initiate him into the ways of the camp. 

“The interesting ceremony of initiation occurred at the 
Minerva, and after the usual preliminaries, the honorable 
Mr. J. Mapleson invited the tenderfoot to give him an exhibi- 
tion of a ‘wing dance.’ As the victim was from the South, 
where it was easy to learn that particular style of dancing, 
and Jerry had him covered with a six-shooter, he demon- 
strated a surprising degree of talent — which, I presume, was 
as novel to himself as to his audience. 

“But ‘wing dancing’ is tiresome work, and the stranger 
soon became weary. Jerry thereupon generously stimulated 
his flagging zeal, by shooting as near his feet as he could, 
without hitting him — and sometimes a trifle nearer. 

“The tenderfoot was a lithe, handsome fellow, and an 
athlete — he was no coward, but this was Jerry’s game, and so 
the young fellow danced, waited, and — counted the shots. 

“The victim finally stopped, apparently from sheer ex- 
haustion, and staggered against the bar. 

“Jerry now approached him with the pacific intention of 
inviting him to drink, as was customary, meanwhile replacing 
his empty revolver in his belt. 

“Just as the sturdy miner came within arm’s length of 
his apparently guileless victim, the young Georgian whipped 
out a bowie, sprangat Jerry like a panther, and cut him twice, 
and that seriously, before he could recover from his surprise. 


600 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“Somebody grabbed the young- fellow’s knife-hand just 
as Jerry reached for his own bowie! Swing-ing- about as 
though on a pivot, the young athlete struck the astonished 
Jerry a blow under the jaw with his left fist that would have 
done credit to a professional pug-ilist! 

“Jerry was a g-ame man and a toug-h one, but he was no 
better than anybody else when his brain was benumbed — 
cerebral concussion is not conducive to pernicious bodily 
activity. 

“And so the hero of a score of knife-battles and gun- 
fights, went g-ently yet firmly to sleep under the soft per- 
suasion of a tenderfoot — who had learned to use a knife ‘way 
down in Georg-y,’ and had studied the art of boxing- under 
that distinguished statesman — the Hon. John Morrissey, 
erstwhile of New York, and later of the Congress of the 
United States! 

“Now, the boys all liked Jerry, but they liked the quality 
of bravery itself, better than men who personified it. Fair 
play was the creed of E , and the young Georgian imme- 

diately became the hero of the hour. The crowd at once 
proceeded to fill him up, or at least, to try to do so. But 
this was another game that they play pretty well ‘down in 
Georgy,’ and the result was, that that blessed tenderfoot laid 
out a number of the hardest drinkers in town before the even- 
ing was over, while he himself was not even kept busy! 

“The subsequent popularity of the young fellow, was 
only exceeded by the celerity with which he used to skin our 
boys at poker. There never was a more accomplished gentle- 
man than he. There wasn’t a man in town that could shoot 
with him, and even Jerry himself, never saw the day that he 
could whip out a knife and put it where it was most needed, 
with more adroitness than could young Claiborne. He could 
swing a pick with the best of them, too! 

“I afterward became well acquainted with our new and 
promising citizen; indeed, we were eventually more than 
friendly — he was a finely educated fellow and an excellent 
conversationalist. It was with genuine sorrow that I heard 
of his death in San Francisco several years later — poor bov! 

“ How did he die? 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


601 


“Well, my boy, there never was a lig-hter so g’ood but 
that there was another somew^here, who was just a shade 
better. A shade the quicker is quick enoug-h, where pistols 
and knives are concerned. 

“While the majority of the crowd was endeavoring- to 
smother the victorious young- strang-er with the red-eyed 
hospitality of our town, some of the boys carried the uncon- 
scious Jerry into an adjoining- room and did the best they 
knew in checking- the blood from his wounds. Meanwhile, 
several messeng-ers were sent in hot haste after me. 

“Fortunately for Jerry, I was at my office — he couldn’t 
have lost much more blood without a fatal result. 

“ He had recovered his senses when I arrived, but was 
still dazed, and so weak from the hemorrhag-e from the deep 
wounds in his chest and shoulder that he reg-arded passing- 
events with very little interest. 

“I carefully dressed his wounds, and with the assistance 
of several of his friends and an improvised stretcher, suc- 
ceeded in g-etting- my unfortunate patient home.” 


“ I would not allow Jerry to talk for some time, and abso- 
lutely interdicted visitors. At the end of about ten days, 
however, he was practically out of danger, and I said to him 
one morning: ‘Jerry, we can now talk a little. You have 
had a hard pull of it, but, thanks to your magnificent consti- 
tution and our mountain air, you are all right now.’ 

“‘Yes,’ he replied, dryly, ‘an’ I s’pose y’u didn’t hev 
nuthin’ ter do with pullin’ me through, nuther — only I aint 
thet kind uv er pashunt, savvy? Purty close call, wuzn’t 
et. Doc? Come d — d near goin’ up ther flume thet time, 
didn’t I? 

“ ‘Oh, well, Jerry,’ I replied, ‘I’ve seen closer calls, but 
that chest wound came near doing the business for you.’ 

“ ‘ Wuz ther lung cut. Doc?’ he asked, anxiously. 

“ ‘ No, the lung was not cut, fortunately — or, at least, if 
it was, the injury was very slight — but what we term the 
pleural cavity was opened. A little artery just beneath one 
of your ribs was cut, and that side of your chest was full of 
blood by the time I reached you. The clots crowded 3'our 



“Jerry looked at the ceiling* thoughtfully for a moment, 
and then broke out in a hearty laugh, ending by saying — 

“ ‘Say, Doc, aint he er corker?’ 

“ ‘ Whom do you mean, Jerry?’ 


602 OVER THE HOOKAH. 

lung up pretty well, but the blood is now about all absorbed, 
and you’re worth four dead men. As for your cut shoulder, 
that has healed as sound as a dollar.’ 


“SAY, DOC, AINT HE EK CORKER?’’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


603 


“ ‘ W’y, thet d — d tenderfoot!’ 

“‘Oh, I see,’ I replied, ‘you are commenting- on the 
young- man who interfered with your respiration. Yes, 
Jerry, so far as I am able to understand the term, he is a 
“ corker !” ’ 

“ ‘ Wall, I’ll tell ye whut,’ replied Jerry, ‘ thet feller is er 
mount’in cat, er Texas steer an’ er thrashin’ machine, all 
rolled inter one! He’s er rustler frum ’way up ther sti'eam! 
He’s er bad man frum Bitter Creek, he is, an’ I’m er bloomin’ 
goslin’I “Tenderfoot!” Holy smoke! If thet feller’s er 
tenderfoot, I don’t never wanter meet enny tuff men frum 
his diggin’s. Ha! ha! ha! Whut ther h — 1 did he hit me 
with, enny how, ther spittoon?’ 

“‘No, Jerry,’ I replied, facetiously, ‘he just tapped you 
with his delicate little left hand — digits clenched — that’s all.’ 

“‘All?’ he exclaimed, ‘All? Holy catamounts! whut d’ 
ye want? W’y, thet feller don’t hev ter carry no weppins, no 
more’n er rattlesnake! All? Wall, by G — d, ye mout jest ez 
wall be hit with er pick handle!’ 

“ ‘ Yes, Jerry,’ I replied, ‘there is a little knack about it 
— you see the young man knows the game.’ 

“‘Wall, et’s er d — d good game,’ replied my patient, 
‘an’ I reckon I’d better trade my bowie an’ gun fer er few 
less’ns.’ 

“ Young Claiborne was one of the first callers on my dis- 
tinguished patient. He was received with as much enthus- 
iasm as Jerry had left in him, and a compact of friendship 
was formed, then and there, that was as sincere as it was 
enduring. 

“Poor old Jerry! Lead and steel were not destined to 
end his interesting career. He received more wounds during 
his eventful life than any man I ever knew. How peculiar 
are the operations of destiny ! He finally made his pile, 
and, several years later, started back to his home somewhere 
in the States; exactly where he came from, no one ever knew 
— nor will anyone ever know. The steamer in which he took 
passage, was wrecked in a collision off the Mexican coast and 
sunk with all on board.” — 


604 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


“A few days after Jerry had recovered sufficiently to be 
able to g-et about a little, he came into my office one morning- 
in a state of great excitement. 

“ ‘Say, Doc,’ he exclaimed, ‘I’ve got some more news uv 
th’ ole Major!’ 

“ ‘Ah, is he coming home?’ I asked. 

“‘No,’ replied Jerry, disconsolately, ‘an’ I don’t reckon 
he ever will. Er fren’ uv Charley Mason’s, whut lives in 
Placerville, wuz down ter Frisco er while ergo, an’ he run 
ercross ole Maje down thar, in er horspital, an’ ther head 
mogul Doc down thar, said ez how ther pore ole man wuz on 
his las’ legs. Now, us boys hez bin talkin’ ther thing over, 
an’ we thort some uv us orter go down thar an’ do whut we 
kin fer th’ ole feller. D’ye think I kin sit er boss er ride in 
thet d— d ole stage yit?’ 

“‘Why, Jerry!’ I said, ‘are you crazy? Of course you 
can’t. It will be some weeks yet before you can do an\^ 
traveling.’ 

“Jerry’s face fell. ‘Say, Doc,’ he said, slowly, after a mo- 
ment’s deliberation, ‘y’u know I’m on ther squar’, don’t ye?’ 

“ ‘ Yes, Jerry, I do,’ I replied. 

“‘Wall, then, I want y’u ter do the squar’ thing by er 
squar’ man, will ye do et?’ 

“ ‘Why, Jerry, you know I’ll do almost anything for you 
— what is it?’ 

“Wall, Doc, I want y’u ter take er perfeshnal trip down 
ter ’Frisco, an’ look arter ther Major. I haint got much use 
fer them horspitals nohow, an’ I haint got no use er tall fer 
enny Docs but y’u. Thet’s ’bout ther way all uv us boys 
feel, an’ we’ll see yer through, an’ thar aint no splittin’ ha’rs 
on ye’r price, nuther. I kin speak fer the rest uv ther boys, 
coz we hev talked et all over. Now, don’t say no. Doc, ef yore 
my fren’ !’ 

“ ‘Well, Jerry,’ I replied, ‘ this is rather short notice, but 
I feel under obligations both to the boys and the poor old 
Major, and I will gladly go. There is a new doctor down at 
Placerville, who will doubtless be glad to come up if anything 
serious happens, and as I have no bad cases on hand, now 
that you are all right. I’ll start this afternoon.’ 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


605 


“Bully fer y’u, Doc!’ cried Jerry. ‘Thar’s only one uv 
yore kind, ennyhow, an’ ther boys won’t ferg-itet, y’u jes’bet! 
I’ll hev er good fat bag er dust fer ye, ’fore ye can say Jack 
Roberson!’ 

“ ‘Ah,’ I thought, as Jerry sped away as fast as his still 
scanty breathing space and weakened heart would allow him, 
‘ I had to come to a mining camp to learn what true friendship 
is. Brave hearts, true hearts, under shaggy breasts! The 
tenderness of woman, the desperate, savage courage of the 
lion, and the souls of heroes, within mud-bespattered miners’ 
jackets! 

“ ‘A man’s a man for a’ that,’ sang dear old Bobby Burns. 
— Where were there ever rougher or more precious diamonds 
than in that rude mining camp?’ 

“It was not long before Jerry returned with dust enough 
for several journeys. The boys, he said, were highly de- 
lighted with my prospective errand of mercy. Charley 
Mason had volunteered to go with me as far as Placerville 
and bring my horse back. There was a stage bound for the 
lower country from that place early in the morning, and the 
boys had rightly concluded that I would prefer to take it, 
rather than travel the entire distance on horseback, through 
a very dangerous region infested by banditti of all grades of 
villainy. 

Charley and I started away immediately after dinner, a 
large number of the boys being on hand to see us off. Every 
man among them, had some kind greeting to be given the 
Major when I found him. I was admonished to spare no 
pains or expense in making him comfortable, and was assured 
that they should expect me to bring the old man back with 
me if I succeeded in getting him well again. 

“Jerry called me aside as I was about to mount my 
mustang and said — 

“ ‘I want y’u ter tell th’ ole Major thet I’m still his bes’ 
fren’. I don’t much expect he’ll ever git up agin, frum whut 
Charley’s fren’ said, but, ef he does, don’t leave ther pore ole 
feller down thar in ’Frisco. Bring ’im home with ye, ef ye 
hev ter tie ’im in er cart an’ lug ’im all ther way. Ef he 
should pas^ in his chips, see thet he’s done hansum by— y’u 


606 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


know, Doc,’ he said, choking- up, ‘whut I mean. Thar aint 
nuthin’ too g-ood fer ther Major, dead er ’live.’ ” 


“Arriving- at Placerville, we put up for the night at a 
hotel that had but one redeeming feature — it was a trifle 
better than our own Miner’s Rest. As I was to begin a tire- 
some journey early in the morning — for stage riding at best, 
is not very comfortable, and in those days it was something 
to inspire one with dread — I retired, leaving my friend Mason 
to do the honors and exchange greetings with the citizens of 
the town, who were always more than hospitable to their 
neighbors of E . 

“I cautioned Charley, as I bade him good-night, not to 
drink too much or get into any arguments during the evening, 
as I desired to have him on hand with a whole skin and a clear 
head to bid me good-bye in the morning. He laughed, and 
said, ‘All right. Doc, d’ye want me ter leave my six-shooter 
with y’u?’ 

“‘No,’ I replied, ‘my own is plenty for me, and you 
wouldn’t feel natural nor look dressed up without it, so I 
think you had better wear it.’ 

“ ‘ Fer ets moral effeck, and coz et ergrees with my com- 
plexshun, eh. Doc?’ and the tough little chap left me, grin- 
ning so widely that his ears were in imminent danger of 
engulfment. 

“When I arose the next morning, I found that my com- 
panion was all ready to start for home immediately after the 
departure of the stage. My own little mustang was saddled 
and haltered, ready for the homeward journey. It was 
evident that Charley had withstood the effects of Placerville 
whisky quite successfully. Beyond a suspicious redness 
about the eyes — that may have been due to loss of sleep — 
he was as fresh as a mountain breeze. 

“ With many kind wishes for the success of my journey, 
my friend bade me good-bye, and I was soon fairly on my way 
to ’Frisco.” 


“ My journey was without incident, save for the tiresome 
changes of stages and the discomforts of the various places 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


607 


at which I was oblig'ed to stop on the way. I failed to make 
stage connections on severakoccasions, and as a consequence, 
it was five days before I arrived at my destination — tired, 
dusty and ill-tempered. 

“But the comforts of civilization, although so new to 
me that I felt ill at ease among them, were none the less 
beneficial, and I soon found myself an improvement upon the 
original traveler who had left E a few days before. 

“San Francisco had, even at that time, several excellent 
hotels and many fairly good ones. I put up at the old Inter- 
national — a really comfortable house run on the European 
plan. Even this establishment, although in existence less 
than ten years, was already designated as ‘old’ — San Fran- 
cisco was moving very rapidly in those days. The wealth of 
the mines found its way in a steady stream to the California 
metropolis, and there was no lack of hotel enterprise to offer 
attractions for the miners’ golden ounces. 

“ I did not undertake to see the city, attractive as was the 
prospect to one who had not known what civilization really 
was for several years. The object of my visit was both 
philanthropic and professional, and I lost no time in endeav- 
oring to fulfill it. 

“Delaying just long enough for a bath and a change of 
linen, I set out on my search for the Major. 

“As there was but one public hospital in the city — aside 
from the government marine — I had no difficulty in localizing 
my field of investigation. 

“The hospital was an unpretentious affair, which sug- 
gested that while San Francisco enterprise was active enough 
in other directions, philanthropy in the care of the sick was 
at that time a secondary consideration— a criticism that 
could not justly be passed at the present time, for San 
Francisco hospitals will to-day compare most favorably with 
those of other cities of its size, and its physicians are certainly 
equal to those of any other city in the Union. 

“ Much to my gratification, I found that the house physi- 
cian, to whom I introduced myself, was a very intelligent and 
agreeable man. He was a graduate of Edinburgh, and as 
bright and energetic a young Scotchman as one could wish to 


608 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


meet. He had been attracted to California some years before, 
by the wonderful tales he had heard of our El Dorado, and, 
like many other men, had found himself decidedly out of 
his element. Mining was not his forte^ and he could not 
adapt himself to his environment in the mining town where 
he had endeavored to practice. Finally becoming discour- 
aged, he had returned to the point from which he started into 
the mines — San Francisco. 

“He was better appreciated in the city, and had suc- 
ceeded in getting the hospital position several years before 
I met him. He had also built up a most lucrative private 
practice — so lucrative and exacting, he said, that were it not 
for the sentiment involved, he would long since have given up 
his hospital work. 

“Doctor MacRae was most courteous to me, but much 
to my disappointment, said that no patient by the name of 
Merriwether had ever been under his care. 

“I was taken somewhat aback at first — San Francisco 
was, even at that time, a large place, and the prospect of ran- 
sacking it in search of a sick man was neither enticing nor in 
the least encouraging. 

“ ‘ But,’ said the doctor, with his decidedly Scotch accent, 

‘ these California people are verra like to gie some ither name 
than their ain; I should nae be surprised if yir Major hae 
been here under some ither name. Or, mayhap, the one he 
hae gie’n us is the richt an’ the name ye ken is fauss.’ 

“ ‘Well, I declare!’ I exclaimed, ‘how stupid of me not to 
have thought of that!’ 

“‘Oh, weel,’ said the doctor, ‘a mon dinna always re- 
member sic little points when he’s in the mines. Everybody 
is sae busy there, they dinna have the time to bother aboot 
fouk’s names. Describe yir friend, an’ let us see if we hae 
had him here.’ 

“I proceeded to give a circumstantial description of the 
Major — a very easy matter, as you might suppose from your 
knowledge of his peculiar and striking characteristics. 

“Doctor MacRae listened attentively, and as I went on 
with my description his face grew grave. — 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


609 


“‘Ah! my dear doctor,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid I ken yir 
mon. Yir too late, sir! Yir puir friend deed last nig-ht, an’, 
as I waur thinkin’, he wass here under anither name.’ 

“ As he spoke, the doctor rang’ the bell at his elbow. An 
attendant entered and the doctor said to him, ‘Henry, ask 
Mrs. Johnson the name of the mon who deed last nig’ht.’ 

“ The attendant departed, and soon returned with a slip 
of paper. — 

“ ‘ Mrs. Johnson wrote his name on this paper, sir.’ 

“The doctor took the paper and read, ‘Obadiah C. 
Tompkins.’ 

“‘I thocht the name wass Tompkins,’ said the doctor, 
‘but I waur nae sure. This maun be yir Major, I think, 
doctor.’ 

“‘Please, sir,’ said the attendant, who stood patiently 
waiting-, ‘ Mrs. Johnson handed me this letter, which the 
patient g'ave her to keep for him just before he died.’ 

“Doctor MacRae took the letter, and turning- to me, said, 
‘Ah! there’s nae doot noo; this letter is for yirsel!’ 

“And so it proved — the missive was plainly addressed to 
me. It was with considerable emotion that I took it, and 
after g-lancing- at the superscription put it into my pocket. 

“ ‘ With your permission. Doctor MacRae, I will read this 
letter to you later — unless it contains something- that requires 
secrecy, which I doubt. Major Merriwether was one of the 
most extraordinary characters that our American civilization 
has ever produced, and he may interest you as a psycho- 
log-ical study.’ 

“‘Weel,’ said my confrlre^ ‘I’m richt sorry that he 
wudna talk to me aboot himsel’. Th’auld mon waur as dumb 
as an oyster an’ we could g-et verra leetle out o’ him.’ 

“‘It would have been well worth your while to study 
him,’ I replied. — 

“ ‘ Of what did he die ? ’ I asked. 

“‘Oh, weel, doctor,’ replied MacRae, ‘it wass th’ auld 
story. Th’ auld mon ate too leetle an’ drank too much. His 
liver an’ kidneys waur worn oot lang- since, but they did 
verra weel by him till aboot a month ag-o, when they struck 
work altog-ither. He wass that chang-ed ye wad scarcely 


610 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


ha’ known him when he deed. Wad ye like to see him, 
doctor?’ 

“ ‘ Yes,’ I replied, ‘I was quite fond of the old man, and 
I desire to make suitable arrangements for his burial. I 
really represent a number of his fellow townsmen, who were 



“HE WOULD NEVER FIGHT AGAIN.’’ 


desirous of having all possible attention shown the Major- 
living or dead.’ 

“Doctor MacRae himself led the way to a little out- 
building, which, he informed me, had been utilized as a dead- 
house in lieu of a special structure for the purpose. 

“There, upon a rude pine table, lay the Major. His 
face was bloated, as is often the case in persons dead of renal 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


611 


disease, but there was no mistaking* that g-ig-antic thoug-h 
attenuated frame. 

“The poor old Major had foug-ht and run away, but he 
had reversed the old adag'e — he would never fig-ht ag'ain. 

“ I looked upon the swollen features of the poor old man 
for a brief moihent, then, g-ently replacing* the sheet that 
the kind-hearted nurse had thrown over him — hospitals, you 
know, are not usually characterized by such delicate atten- 
tion to the dead — I followed Doctor MacRae back to his office, 
where he invited me to sit a while and tell him something of 
the dead man. 

“I gave the doctor a brief synopsis of the Major’s history, 
dwelling particularly upon the circumstances that impelled 
him to leave E so suddenly. 

“ Doctor MacRae was evidently a close student of human 
nature — he listened with apparently the liveliest interest, and 
agreed with me that the Major was a character as unique as 
he was interesting. 

“Having finished my recital of the Major’s history, I 
recalled the letter that had been given me by the hospital 
attendant. 

“‘I had almost forgotten the old man’s letter,’ I re- 
marked. — ‘With your permission, doctor, I will now read it, 
and unless there is some special reason for not doing so, 
I will read it to you. I suspect that it will prove quite 
interesting.’ 

“Taking the letter from my pocket, I opened it — with 
some emotion, you may be sure — and as soon as I had deter- 
mined the miture of its contents, read it to the doctor. 

“Here is an exact copy of the letter— the original has 
become so time-worn that it will not bear handling. I will 
read it to you, just as I read it to MacRae: 

My Dear Doctor Weymouth: 

You have probably, ere this, forgotten that such an individual as 
myself ever existed. It is, therefore, not because of any conceited notion 
that you are interested in the fate of j'^our humble servant, that I am 
impelled to write you at this time. 

This denial of conceit upon my part, may appear somewhat 
inconsistent with the role in whi^h you have had the opportunity of 
studying me, but I assure you, sir, that the fictitious vanity and 


612 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


superlative bumptiousness under which I have for so many years 
masqueraded, are now things of the past. Such impressions as these 
apparent qualities in my make-up may have made upon you, will, I 
hope, be evanescent. 

I trust that you will remember, not my foibles, but such little 
praiseworthy traits of character, as may have appeared to you to 
remain, after making due allowance for those peculiarities with which 
I was so long and so closely identified. 

You are a man of education and refinement, and these qualities, 
in connection with your deep and philosophical knowledge of weak 
human nature, will, I am sure, enable you to understand the grotesque, 
and to you, no doubt, laughable peculiarities of the gentleman whom I 
will designate for the sake of perspicuity, the late Major Merriwether. 
I am also convinced that you detected an underlying stratum of gentility 
and at least a modest degree of educational refinement, in that worthy 
gentleman. I do not believe, however, that even your keen power of 
observation and your remarkable insight into human character, ever 
enabled you to penetrate the true inwardness of that remarkable indi- 
vidual. 

It would be presumptuous in me, sir, to say that I always ap- 
preciated you as a kindred spirit, and yet, taking into consideration 
my normal organization — which was by no means grotesque after the 
shell in. which I had lived so long had been pierced — it may not be too 
much for me to say that our similarity of tastes, and what I believe to 
have been our equal educational advantages, should have made us at 
least congenial spirits. You did not possess, nor, were you other than 
a scientific physician, could you possibly realize,that peculiar psycho- 
logical constitution, which constituted the difference between us and 
which impelled me to assume the absurd intellectual disguise in which 
I have for so many years masqueraded. With this letter as a key, you 
can very readily understand the situation and appreciate my reasons 
for writing to you what is, to all intents and purposes, everything that 
is important in my history. I write it as an act of justice, not only to 
myself but to you, for I have always felt that you were at least kindly 
disposed toward me, even though your friendliness was inspired to a 
certain extent by scientific curiosity, but more, by that offensive entity 
born of the milk of human kindness, which fools term “sympathy.” 

The serio-comic play, known as life, in which I have enacted such 
a farcical role, is fast drawing to a close. You, my dear sir, of all 
men, should appreciate my reasons, both organic and psychic, for that 
excessive indulgence in spirituous liquors which has characterized my 
career. Keenly realizing the humiliating features of my mental make- 
up, I have endeavored to blunt with liquor, the keen edge that was ori- 
ginally ground upon my feelings by an innate sense of dignity and the 
grind-stone of education. Through the medium of liquor alone, have I 
been able to even approximate consistency in the ridiculous role that 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


613 


I assumed, many years before I had the pleasure of making- your 
acquaintance. You appreciate, sir, the readiness with which the finer 
sensibilities may be blunted, and the very refinements of braggadocio 
brought to the surface by indulgence in liquor. Fortunately for me, I 
have been for the most part, situated in an environment in which indul- 
gence in rhodomontade and bluster was productive of no other results 
than kindly toleration of what was really the result of a physical in- 
firmity — though perhaps not recognized as such by those around me: 

The late Major Merriwether — of whom I am the only legal rep- 
resentative — was born in the State of New Jer.sey. In justice to his 
birthplace, I will state that in my opinion he was by no means a pro- 
duct characteristic of the soil. He was sui generis. Quite early in life 
he discovered that there was a lack of harmony between his physical 
and mental organizations, a giant in stature, and a woman in spirit, he 
was exposed from his early youth, to circumstances that were by no 
means conducive to his comfort. 

With the strength of an athlete and the soul of a mouse, the Major 
early realized that he was handicapped in the struggle of existence. 
There seemed but one way to counterbalance his unfortunate infirmity 
— cowardice — and that was to take advantage of his overgrown stature 
by associating with it an air of bravado and an assumption of courage, 
which would quite likely convert his life into a more or less successful 
game of bluff. 

A close student of the classics, an ardent reader of modern fiction,, 
he was not long in hitting upon a plan which he believed to be not only 
justifiable, but thoroughly compatible with the highest principles of 
self-defense in the battle of life. The result was the Major Merriwether 
of your acqiuiintance — a fire-eating Southerner, who was never nearer 
Mason and Dixon’s line than his native State. The nearest approach 
that he ever made to the South was crossing Southern waters during 
his ocean voyage to California via the Isthmus. 

Exactly why the Major assumed the role of a Southerner, would 
be difficult to explain, for, to his mind — although cowardly he was by 
no means unappreciative of comedy — the Southern fire-eater was as 
amusing as he was hard to understand. 

The Major, in reality, did have some military experience, which 

consisted, as was rumored in the town of E , of a short service as 

drum-major in a regiment of militia. His entrance upon a military life 
was due to certain peculiar views that he had formulated, regarding 
the quality of bravery which is at least supposed to exist in the average 
man. He had very carefully studied historical accounts of celebrated 
warriors and great battles, and had concluded that there were two ele- 
ments which impelled the soldier to acts of bravery upon the battle-field. 
One of these was what may be termed “mass courage,” which per- 
vades large bodies of men serving a common cause, and the other 
which appeared to be more important — was the garb of the soldier. 


614 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


The Major reasoned that the soldier, like the clergyman, often 
had more regard for his cloth than for his occupation, as regards im- 
pulse to duty. He also believed that martial music was one of ‘the 
essential factors in inspiring bravery in men’s hearts. Reasoning 
from his own standpoint, he believed that all normally constituted 
men were cowards. Those who were unlike himself, were either 
brave because of some peculiarity of organization or some extraneous 
circumstance or other, over which they might, or might not, have vol- 
itional control. He did not believe, and in this, I, his humble represent- 
ative, agree, that the average man is a hero. Major Merri wether had 
discovered many elements of cowardice in himself, but the all-pervading, 
all-controlling feature of his own cowardice was his dread of being con- 
sidered a coward. This fear of being thought afraid, was, he thought, 
characteristic of the average man. 

After these views became crystallized in the Major’s mind, he not 
only put his theories into practice by enlisting in the service of his 
native state and assuming the most pretentious position that military 
service afforded, but he adopted a systematic course of self-training, 
based upon his peculiar views and his theoretical knowledge of the fire- 
eater. The product was that extraordinary individual, the Major Mer- 
riwether whom you knew, and probably pitied — how justly, you are now 
beginning to understand. 

I will do the Major the justice of stating that he made a most 
strenuous endeavor to superadd to his artificial qualities of bravery, a 
]wactical application of the principles of heroism demonstrated by other 
men, whose acts were more consistent with what the world calls cour- 
age, although associated with less of bumptious pretension. He enlisted 
in the United States Army during the war with Mexico, for the pur- 
pose of putting himself to the crucial test of exposure to shot and shell 
in the defense of his country ; but alas ! that ambition which impelled 
him to assume so prominent a position as that of drum-major, was the 
source of his downfall. 

Although theoretically a non-combatant, the first impression that 
the Major derived from the more or less distant crash of the enemy’s 
guns, was the conspicuousness of his stature, his prominent position on 
parade, and his uniform. A casual facetious remark made by one of 
his comrades, relative to the superb target that he made, effectually 
extinguished the already dimly-glowing fire of his military ambition 
and made him shed his uniform. In the vernacular of the kind-hearted 
l>eople among whom he afterwards sojourned, he then “struck out for 
tall timber!’’ 

The Major finally drifted into the mining region where vou had 
the misfortune of making his acquaintance. Here he alternated between 
the sublime and the ridiculous, or, perhaps, more properly speaking, he 
enacted the double and simultaneous role of court fool and town drunk- 
ard — an individual great in pretense and weak in spirit, who was 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


615 


busily eng’ag’ed in drowning his finer sensibilities by traveling as fast 
a pace as possible toward that bourne from which no drunkard ere 
returns— besotted and benighted stupidity. 

The Miijor was dimly conscious at times, that he was not only toler- 
ated by his fellow townsmen chiefly because the antics of the clown are 
always acceptable to the common herd, but on several of the occasions 
on which he made a monumental ass of himself, he was more than 
suspicious that he had been the victim of a practical joke. To be frank 
with you, he was under that impression throughout the trying ordeal of 
that little transaction, the attempt at a duel which resulted in his hastj' 

departure from E . He suspected it so strongly that he carried out 

his own part of the program, albeit in terror and trepidation, until he 
saw the actual loading of the pistols. The result you are quite as 
familiar with as I am myself. 

I have not attempted, my dear doctor, to go into minute deteiils in 
the foregoing biography of the late Major Merriwether. I have myself 
been in happier days something of 3 . dilettante in psychology. I have at 
least a smattering of medical lore, and I am sure that what I have 
already written is sufficient to enable a man of your keen perception, to 
thoroughly appreciate the true character of the unfortunate Major. 

Doctor Weymouth — I, the representative of your friend, the Major, 
am lying upon my death-bed in a public hospital in the City of San 
Francisco. My attempts to benumb my keener nervous sensibilities and 
anaesthetize my psychic pain, have resulted in total annihilation of the 
structural integrity of my liver and kidne3’^s. Nature endowed me with 
a magnificent constitution, a frame of iron, and I may saj-^ in all 
modesty, a superior intellect, but the good dame was by no means gen- 
erous to me — she omitted those qualities of mind and heart, which would 
have made me capable of fighting the battle of life upon an even footing 
with other men. I have taken a sad revenge ; I have ruined two of the 
perfect structures with which -she endowed me — my kidneys and liver. 

Now, mj’^ dear doctor ; there may be that in what I have said, which 
will cause you something of a pang of remorse for the part which j^ou 
yourself have pla^^ed in my little comedy of life. Do not, however, allow 
yourself one moment’s recrimination or mental distress on my account. 
I have not been altogether unhappjq for the indulgence of my frailties 
and foibles b}-^ mj' fellowmen, has been at times a source of unalloyed 
pleasure. Why, my dear sir, there have been times when I actuallj^ 
believed I was the hero I pretended to be, and, after all, as Epictetus 
said, it is our opinion of ourselves from which we must derive comfort 
or sorrow, and when that opinion is apparently supported by the con- 
duct and opinions of those bj' whom we are surrounded, then indeed is 
our happiness complete. 

The rhodomontade of Don Quixote has been immortalized by Cer- 
vantes — perchance 3"Ou, my dear friend, with v’-our undoubted abilit3% 
ma3" utilize a more remarkable fool than was that erratic knight, and 


616 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


embalm the history of the late Major Merriwether in fiction, or in a 
scientific disquisition upon the peculiar phase of psychic aberration 
which he represented, and in which, I believe, he stood alone. 

The prompter has rung, and the curtain must soon fall. It only 
remains for me, my dear friend, to extend to you the affectionate fare- 
well greeting of that blood-thirsty, fire-eating, blustering, bragging, 
carousing, suffering coward — Major Merriwether. 

Very sincerely and admiringly yours, 

OBADIAH C. TOMPKINS. 

P. S. — This letter will probably’’ be forwarded to you after mj' 
death. Pray do not give 3"ourself any concern about the possible exist- 
ence of friends or relatives who might be interested in m\’^ fate. Of the 

former, there are only the few of my old associates in E who may 

remember me kindlj" — of the latter, I have none. 

O. C. T. 

“ ‘ What do you think of the Major’s analysis of himself, 
doctor?’ I asked, when I had finished reading- the letter. 

“‘It is the most remarkable character study I hae iver 
heard,’ replied Doctor MacRae, with a decided display of 
emotion. ‘I hae missed th’ opportunity o’ mae life. It’s an 
ower g-reat pity he didna talk aboot himsel’.’ 

“After making- all the necessary arrang-ements for the 
burial of my dead friend, I bade my confr'ere g-ood-day and 
returned to my hotel. 

“As I was parting- with the doctor, he gave me a most 
cordial invitation to spend a few days as his guest before 
leaving San Francisco, an invitation that I gladly accepted. 
I have never enjoyed anything more thoroughly than I did 
my visit with Doctor MacRae, and the pleasant days that I 
spent with him were the beginning of a life-long friendship. 
He retired, some years ago, and returned to his native land, 
where he is now living the ideal life of a wealthy country 
gentleman.’’ 


“There was but little more that friendship could do for 
the Major, but that little was done in a style that even Jerry 
himself would have pronounced ‘hansum.’ 

“‘Obadiah C. Tompkins’ was an unknown quantity to 
the boys of E . I had come to San Francisco to find their 


617 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 

friend, Major Merriwether, and it was for him that I per- 
formed the last rites. 

As he had said in his pathetic autobiography, the old 
man had no friends or relatives who would ever know or 
cai e, where or under what name he was buried, with the ex- 
ception of those honest miners who had known and loved him 
during his comedy of rhodomontade at E . Their senti- 

ments alone, therefore, were my guide in the disposal of all 
that was earthly of the gallant Major. 

“ The rapid growth of the city of San Francisco has long 
since obliterated all traces of the spot where I laid the Major 
to rest, but for many years, one of the most interesting of the 
numerous mementoes that marked the last resting places of 
the sleepers in Yerba Buena cemetery, was a pretentious 
slab on which was inscribed: — 


‘erected 


To the Memory of 
MAJOR MERRIWETHER, 
Soldier of Fortune and Slave of Destiny, 

His Fellow Townsmen of 
E . 

“Honor and shame from no condition rise^ — 

Act well your part; there all the honor lies.’ ’’ 


“Well, my boy, now that we have played ‘taps’ for the 
Major, I am reminded that we must bid each other good-bye 
to-morrow. I regret exceedingly that our pleasant evenings 
together are over, but I am glad to know that your labors as 
a student are ended, and that you are now ready to enter the 
battle of life in earnest. The hour is late, and as you have 
promised to call to-morrow, I will reserve certain things that 
I wish to say to you until then. I suppose I ought to say 


618 


OVER THE HOOKAH. 


‘Good nig-ht, doctor,’ but I haven’t got used to your title yet, 
so I will say as of old — 

“Good night, my boy.” 


And now, farewell — farewell, O pipe, farewell, O bowl — 
Farewell, old friend, and thy warm g-ood cheer. 

Thy feast of reason and thy kindly flow of soul — 

It well may be for many a year. 

True hast thou been — I love thee passing well — 

’Tis hard enow to break thy all too pleasant spell. 

And yet I must — and so, farewell and fare thee well! 

THE END. 



333 92 




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